


Our Time in the Sun

by Mahla



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Ancient Egypt, Ancient Greece, Ancient History, Ancient Rome, Between the Scenes, Crowley Tempts Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demon Summoning, Developing Relationship, Discorporation (Good Omens), Dubious History, Eden - Freeform, Eventual Romance, First Kiss, Fluff, Gladiators, Homophobia, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Torture, Incorrect Timelines, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Major character death (but it's discorporation so don't worry too much), Mentions of Slavery, Minor Violence, Mount Sinai, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), Slow Burn, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Sodom, Ten Plagues of Egypt, The Great Flood, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Tower of Babel, biblical history, crowley's name is crawly until it canonically isn't, moments in history, with varying success
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:34:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 104,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22614175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mahla/pseuds/Mahla
Summary: If an angel can defy God by giving away the sword She gave to him, said angel is worth keeping an eye on. And such a rebellious angel could surely be tempted to do a lot more. Eden is boring, Hell is boring, and Heaven certainly seems to be, too - luckily for Crawly, Aziraphale seems to be far more interesting than anything else in God's creation. And definitely worth following around through history. Purely for Hellish reasons, of course.Or: An angel and a demon wade through the millennia and somehow keep running into one another. Does not include any scenes from the show, but occasionally the aftermath of them.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 122
Kudos: 241





	1. Eden

**Author's Note:**

> This fic includes modified scenes from my other fic, [The Mind, the Memory, and the Demon.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22020037/chapters/52548691)  
> You don't need to read it to follow this one, but if you have read that one, some scenes here might feel familiar. :)

The garden was nice, Crawly supposed. A nice change to Hell, certainly - much less moping and screaming up here.

He slithered in the undergrowth. There were animals lounging about peacefully, fresh water flowed in springs and streams, and the plants were impossibly green.

Adam and Eve were playing with otters in a little pool. It was disgustingly sweet and innocent.

_ Cause some trouble _ , they had said Downstairs. Certainly. It was something to do, wasn’t it? He’d figure something out. He had been given this job as if it was a dangerous chore, but he couldn’t have been more pleased. There was nothing  _ to do _ in Hell, just… nothing. Except menial, pointless tasks the higher-ups came up with to fill the time. 

Licking the floors clean was a shift he never wanted again. The Eden gig was like a vacation.

Crawly saw the angel walking among the trees. He’d seen him before, too; this was the one guarding the Eastern Gate.

He wouldn’t have paid too much attention otherwise, but he was the only guard who frequently left his post to wander the garden and talk with Adam and Eve.

Crawly didn’t see why he couldn’t. There was nothing to guard against - there was nothing outside the walls, and nothing inside the walls wanted to leave.

A pointless job, even to him. He supposed Heaven was just as starved of things to do as Hell was.

He hid himself under a bush as the angel walked nearer. Crawly had learned that he was harder to spot like this, as a snake. Once, he’d made the mistake of shapeshifting out of the form near the Western gate, and the guard there had been alerted at once. He’d quickly shifted back, and hidden.

He watched the guard of the Eastern gate stop and pet a lizard fondly.

“Hello,” he crooned. “How are you today? Another glorious day, isn’t it?” 

The lizard made no reply and the angel pulled himself upright and heaved a sigh, a smile plastered on his face.

Crawly let his tongue out and smelled the angel. He smelled of clear skies and sunlight, and other things he didn’t have names for. 

“All days are glorious, of course,” the angel hummed to himself. “I wonder if Eve would like to walk with me around the lake. No... better not stray too far from my post.” He sighed heavily.

Crawly watched the angel’s face curiously. This one almost looked… bored. The smile was frozen on his face as if he didn’t dare to remove it. 

A spark of excitement was lit in Crawly as he realised the angel was actually bored. That the reason he so often abandoned his post was because it was a crushingly pointless, tedious job, and he was  _ bored _ .

He  _ disobeyed Her orders _ because he was  _ bored _ .

From then on, Crawly kept a close eye on this angel to confirm his theory, and it was proven true every time. 

The angel interacted with Adam and Eve often, keeping a professional distance, but clearly desperate to talk to them.

_ Aziraphale _ , was his name. Crawly heard him tell it to Eve as she wondered what she should call him. And Crawly was surprised at her inquisitiveness; it was borderline dangerous. He should definitely pay more attention to her.

It wasn’t hard to tempt the humans. Eve was already curious and Adam was powerless against her. After the apple, it was smooth sailing from there.

Crawly introduced them to all kinds of new, exciting things before Heaven had time to bat an eye. Lust was the obvious first choice, and the humans greatly enjoyed that. Greed was soon to follow, hand in hand with envy and gluttony, and Crawly would come up with more as soon as Heaven decided what they found unacceptable.

It didn’t take too long for them to be cast out, though. All those new sins in such close succession, it was bound to raise alarms. 

Crawly saw Aziraphale standing on the wall immediately afterwards. He was curious - what were the humans going to do now? What was there for them? He considered the possibility that if he showed himself to the guard, he might smite him to dust.

Something told him, however, that this angel just might not. And Crawly was curious beyond belief to talk to him, to see how he’d react - the disobedient angel, bored in paradise.

It had been the best thing he could’ve done, he thought to himself, as he stood under the angel’s wing, sheltered from the first rain.

Why he had edged closer when the rain had started, and why the angel had shielded him from it, he didn’t know.

But he knew that this angel was worth keeping an eye on. This was an angel who had given away the weapon God Herself had issued him with, disobeyed Her orders, and just a moment ago, smiled at a demon so carelessly genuinely and let his worries be  _ comforted  _ by him.

Crawly hoped the angel would follow the humans. He certainly was going to, Satan be willing. This angel… he could be a challenge of the greatest kind.

Aziraphale was rebellious, Crawly could sense it from him, though he knew the angel would forever deny it. 

Crawly had taken the first steps into mastering temptation, and he wondered if what he’d done with the humans could work on the angel, as well. Not other angels, oh no no, not them; but this one in particular.

It would be the greatest triumph if he could tempt an angel. He almost shook with excitement and intrigue. Earth was starting to get interesting, now - the humans would multiply, he’d find ways to hone his skills with them, and he would try them on the angel. 

He turned to look at the guard by his side. The angel seemed a bit anxious still, watching as the humans were disappearing from view. He looked pleasing to the eye. Most angels did, of course, but this one felt different. Maybe it was the way he fretted, or the way he hadn’t shunned a demon, or maybe it was just that Crawly found his soft edges pleasant. 

The rain eased, and the angel drew his wing away without a word.

“Well,” Crawly drawled. “I better get back to work. Things are just getting interesting, I’m sure Downstairs will be over the Moon for this.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” the angel replied nervously.

“I’ll see you later,” Crawly grinned as he turned away. Aziraphale nodded, and Crawly’s grin widened as the angel then realised what he’d just agreed to. But it was too late for him to take back the thoughtless nod now, as Crawly was already slithering down the wall in his snake form.

He would see the angel later, regardless of whether the angel wanted to see him.

The scent of sunlight followed him as the burrowed down to Hell.


	2. Ararat, after the Flood

Aziraphale had had a hard time justifying the great flood and the destruction of so many lives. He’d not dared to think about it too much, really. It was a part of the Plan, after all, so it must have been good. It must have been right.

Crawly’s dismay at the whole thing had only made it worse. That a demon had questioned the Plan was nothing to write home about, but that he’d been so appalled by the idea was… perplexing. 

Especially since his reaction had been what Aziraphale, deep down and hidden away, had felt himself. 

That was a thought he acknowledged only subconsciously, because it was wrong. God knew what She was doing. The Flood was necessary, of course it was, it wouldn’t have happened otherwise. God had a plan, and it was his job to follow it… ineffable as it may be.

But the bodies still kept washing ashore, even after the water had gone down and Noah and his family had settled.

Aziraphale found himself combing the shores every morning. Somebody always washed up, or a  _ part  _ of somebody.

At least the fish were having a great time.  _ God’s creatures, all of them, _ Aziraphale tried to think as he gathered half-eaten remains and laid them to rest.

It was a grim duty, but who would bother, if not him? Noah’s folk was busy colonising and figuring out farming again. This was a duty he did not get used to, not after however many days, not after hundreds of corpses.

It broke his heart every time.

But he didn’t question. She was Almighty, this was Her plan. While the fates of the people made him sad, he knew it all must have served a higher purpose. Otherwise… well, otherwise it was just… wanton death.  _ No _ . No, of course it had a purpose. She did nothing in vain.

He trusted Her. Perhaps it was also in Her plan that he was there, doing what he could. He was serving a higher purpose, Her ineffable purpose, and that was the thought that kept him going.

The hems of his robes dripped with water, up to his knees, as he pulled the corpse of a young woman ashore. He laid her down on the sand carefully, and gave her a blessing. It didn’t mean much, he knew - she was already in Heaven or in Hell, and this was but her mortal, decaying husk. But still… it felt right. The humans had developed all kinds of rites for their deceased, and he thought he should honour them.

He sighed and moved her next to the others. He watched them all, young and old, before turning his eyes on the rocks nearby. He had buried the previous ones under mountains of rock, and the beach was filling up. With the slightest miracle, the stones barely weighed a thing as he hauled them over, one by one, and slowly formed a mound over the poor people.

Sun was setting on the horizon as he put the last stone in place and sat down by the water, staring at the colours of the sky. It was what gave him solace after days like this. The beauty of the sun, the glimmer on the water, the stars beginning to twinkle as the sun sank lower.

It almost gave him peace.

“S’not bad, that,” a voice drawled next to him, making him jump. Crawly was standing there, leaning on a rock formation in his dark robes, staring at the sea.

“It’s beautiful,” Aziraphale murmured a bit warily. Crawly always made him a bit uneasy. Last time, he had made him almost doubt Her, and that was not what he wanted at all.

Crawly’s eyes scanned the beach and the mounds dotting it.

“Why do you do this?” he asked. Aziraphale stared at his serpentine eyes, but turned his gaze away.

“They… they never got their rites.”

“They’re already gone,” Crawly said almost softly, but that must have just been Aziraphale’s tired imagination. “A lot of them went Downstairs - She really wasn’t pleased with them, was She?”

“She works in mysterious ways,” Aziraphale replied curtly. He would not let the demon make him question; this was Her plan, this was meant to be.

“Hmh,” Crawly shifted a bit. “I just thought you’d have better things to do. There are living humans here, did you know? Ones who could end up either way, still.”

Aziraphale looked at his hands and fiddled with his golden ring.

“All I’m saying is,” Crawly sighed, “maybe you should let go of the ones who have already moved on, and make sure the ones still here end up where you want them to.”

The truth in those words scalded Aziraphale’s consciousness. He was doing pointless work. Hauling around empty vessels, using his time to care for husks, instead of focusing on saving the souls still here. But…

“There’s nobody here to remember them but me,” he whispered.

He didn’t look, but knew Crawly was watching him. He could feel those yellow eyes boring into him, and he shut his eyes. He felt like crying - every so often, he found a face in the sea which he’d known. And nobody,  _ nobody  _ remembered them anymore. It’s like they’d never existed - they were forgotten, snuffed out of existence, and it was all so fleeting. It broke his heart.

“Well,” Crawly said after a while. “I suppose there’s more for me, then. I’ve got a job to do, after all. It’s all for the best - I’ll do better without you there, thwarting my moves at every turn.”

Aziraphale snapped his gaze on him, horrified. Crawly was looking at the sun, but glanced his way briefly. It was true, of course - if he was here, then Hell would run rampant with Noah’s folk. He could feel unshed tears in his eyes, and he didn’t know what to say.

“Listen,” Crawly sighed. “You’ve done more than anyone could’ve expected. I’m sure Heaven didn’t tell you to do this - it’s pointless to them, isn’t it?”

He stopped leaning on the rock and looked down at Aziraphale, his eyes gleaming golden in the last rays of the sun.

“And anyway,” the demon said, the briefest of smiles passing on his lips, “ _ you _ remember them. That counts for more than you give it credit for.”

And with that, Crawly turned away and disappeared between the rocks and cliffs, leaving Aziraphale staring after him.

He watched the sun disappear below the sea and looked up to the sky. The stars shone bright, distant but beautiful as ever.

Aziraphale smiled to himself. Humanity needed him, in so many ways. And he was going to be there for them, until the end.

He would remember them.

That he’d taken advice from a demon was a fact he chose to ignore.


	3. Babel, Shinar

_ Ah, the sweet smell of a job well done.  _ Crawly eyed his beautiful creation basked in hot sunlight - well, he called it  _ his  _ because he was the whisper behind the idea, after all.

It was remarkable, really. It had been a few decades since he’d last visited Shinar, and the last time he’d been there he’d made a few suggestions and whispered into a few ears.

_ Wouldn’t it be something to be able to visit Heaven? Wouldn’t it be glorious to get close enough to hear the angels sing? How high would you need to build a tower to reach God, and forever bask in Heavenly light? _

It had worked better than well, and he was surprised with the results.

Crawly was quite impressed with Babel. The humans had really worked hard on it - the city was huge, bustling, and the tower being built in the middle of it already reached higher than any man-made construction so far.

It was doomed to fail, of course. Nobody could actually build anything to reach Heaven, and Heaven would probably see the whole thing as blasphemous, anyway. Win-win, really.

Crawly sauntered along the streets, watching the people go about their chores. He enjoyed this, the hustle and bustle, the busy streets, the cacophony of voices. He could taste the opportunities in the air, sensed the whispers of sin trying to get a hold of the people, and oh, he could help them with that.

A temptation here, a suggestion there, a few lingering looks or poignant touches and he could make any lord or lady tumble down deeper than they had ever feared. Then he smelled it, the yearning of a young woman, married, yet unsatisfied… ambitious. She would be easy to tempt. His feet began to lead him towards his prey.

Suddenly, there was another scent in the air and Crawly stopped dead in his tracks. Sunlight and clear skies. Vanilla. He swallowed. The young woman’s lust was pulling him one way, and the divine aura another. Crawly turned on his heels and followed the scent older than time.

He was drawn to an alleyway and that seemed a bit strange. He melded with the shadows and sneaked closer to the scent, and could soon hear that familiar voice. There was someone with him. Crawly edged close enough to see what was going on and saw the angel, with a woman.

Oh, he could tell exactly what this woman was after. Crawly was more than curious to see how the angel would handle this - after all, temptation and seduction were his aims with the former Guard of the Eastern gate, as well.

“But you look so lonely, good sir,” the woman purred, batting her lashes furiously at Aziraphale.

“Really, I’m quite fine,” the angel smiled, trying to escape her wiles. How had he ended up in this situation, Crawly wondered.

“I can see you’re a reputable man,” the woman hummed. “And I’d never dare to assume you would deign to touch one such as me. But nobody needs to know.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to argue, trapped between her persistence and the hard wall. 

“Won’t cost you much,” the woman smiled softly. “Just a shekel, or a bit of grain, as you see fit, good sir.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, his stance relaxing and his expression melting. “You should have said. You don’t need to… You don’t have to… I mean, I don’t need you to…” 

The angel blushed and Crawly could hardly believe his eyes. This ancient celestial being, Principality on Earth, with power to smite down this woman with a flick of a wrist, was blushing like a bashful maiden. He was embarrassed, awkward, and fumbling, all because a human had made an advance on him. The angel cleared his throat and composed himself. He smiled gently to her.

“My dear woman,” Aziraphale said softly, took her hand, and placed three coins in it. “Feed your child.”

The woman’s mouth went slack and her eyes shone with disbelieving tears. Aziraphale closed her hand on the shekels and held it between his own. His smile made the woman tremble.

“Go with grace,” he whispered. “And with my blessing.”

The woman let out a broken sob and bowed her head. Crawly felt Aziraphale’s blessing tingling in the air. She wiped her eyes and left the alley, brushing past Crawly on her way. Aziraphale stood alone and sighed.

Crawly disentangled himself from the shadows and stepped into the angel’s field of view, making him jolt.

“Crawly,” he gasped. Crawly was oddly pleased with the way the angel said his name; a greeting mixed with fear.

“Aziraphale,” he nodded. “Blessing the poor, I see.”

The angel pursed his lips. “Obviously.”

“With that kind of coin,” Crawly leaned on the opposite wall and tilted his head back, eyes lazily scanning the angel from head to toe, “you could’ve gotten so much.”

“I didn’t need a thing,” Aziraphale huffed, looking appalled at the very idea.

“It’s not about  _ needing _ things,” Crawly tutted. “It’s about wanting. Don’t you  _ want  _ anything?”

He asked it deliberately in his most sultry voice, dripping with sinful meaning, and let his fingers caress his own neck languidly, drawing lines from his collarbones to his lips.

“I want everyone to find their peace,” the angel snapped, but Crawly had seen the way his eyes had been drawn to his neck. A small victory. He grinned.

“How divine of you.”

“As if you would know,” the angel muttered. He began walking away with a sharp glance at Crawly. He caught up with him in a few long strides.

“Do all your blessings have that effect on people?” Crawly asked.

“What effect?” the angel frowned.

“Well, you know. Do they all look at you like you’re the best thing they’ve ever seen, and break down crying?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips and averted his eyes.

“She was just… overwhelmed.”

“Ha, that’s an understatement! The next time she’ll see you, she’ll come with a marriage proposal.”

“She won’t remember me,” the angel muttered. Crawly raised his questioning brows at him and Aziraphale continued: “The blessing. I made sure she’ll forget about me soon enough.”

“So that you can stay undetected?”

Aziraphale nodded curtly. 

“Hm,” was all Crawly thought to say. It made sense, of course, for the angel to cover his tracks like that. If rumours started spreading that there was someone doing magic on the streets… well, they might not immediately think, ‘angel.’

“So, how are you enjoying Babel?” Crawly asked after a moment. Aziraphale walked on, eyes firmly ahead.

“It has its benefits,” the angel said tersely. “The tower is a bit...”

“It’s glorious,” Crawly laughed. “I never thought they’d go this far with it. Honestly, I was just bored and came up with the stupidest idea I could think of, and they actually went with it!”

“ _ All this _ is your doing?” Aziraphale stopped in his tracks and faced him fully.

“Well, I’m sure they’d have built a city, eventually,” Crawly shrugged, eyeing the buildings and the tower reaching ever-higher in the midst of it all, like a fond father. “But I did suggest the tower.”

Aziraphale stared and something in his eyes made Crawly’s good humour dissipate. Those eyes were so impossibly clear, so open, flooding with everything the angel was feeling. It was a bit unsettling. There was betrayal in his eyes. 

“I’m trying my hardest to make them give up this madness,” Aziraphale exclaimed. “They can’t do it, it’s not possible! And they do  _ not  _ like this Upstairs, they-”

The angel looked away and swallowed. “Who knows what will happen to them if they don’t stop this.”

_ Why the Hell is there betrayal in his eyes?  _ Crawly thought to himself.  _ If he doesn’t want me going around making suggestions, maybe he should do his own job better. _

“Surely it’s not so bad to want to be near God?” Crawly raised a brow. “Surely not flood-worthy, at least.”

Aziraphale looked at him, eyes pained and his lips a thin line. He opened his mouth, shook his head, and closed it again. Without another word, he began to walk away.

Crawly didn’t follow. The smell of sunlight waned and disappeared with the angel.

He could smell the lust of the young woman in the air, still. He huffed. Better get on with the job.

He didn’t really feel like tempting her anymore, but in want of anything better, it would have to do.

It wasn’t his business to run after fussy angels, anyway.

And if, when whispering seductions into the woman’s willing ears, he imagined doing it to a blushing angel, well. That was nobody’s business.

When Heaven did, eventually, pass judgement on Babel, it was a far more interesting and creative punishment than Crawly could ever have imagined. 

There was no death, not even destruction - just a bunch of people who suddenly didn’t understand one another.

Crawly observed them for a few weeks as they found the ones amongst themselves who could understand, who spoke the same way, and formed new groups. Neighbours parted, even families were separated, but the need to be understood was stronger than anything else.

From the top levels of the tower, Crawly watched the myriad of different groups depart in their own directions and leave Babel behind. And among them, the only one who stayed behind was the angel, a lone white speck at the gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the Biblical story of Babel, of course, in which God punishes the humans by essentially creating different languages and casting the previously united humankind all over the world.


	4. A Village in Mesopotamia

Aziraphale had no idea how things had gone this wrong. He’d only just showed up in the little village, nestled between a rocky desert and a river.

He’d been full of excitement and hope. He’d decided to help this village flourish and grow. After Babel had been deserted, he’d wandered around for a bit, checking in on the nearest groups, and he’d been fascinated to see how they had developed their new languages and begun to draw words down on slabs of stone, or wood, or on a new invention, papyrus.

It was all terribly fascinating to Aziraphale. The humans were recording their life, their experiences, so that the generations that came after would learn from them. He had spent some time trying to learn the writings himself; he’d been quite successful. If he focused on the divine, he could understand the different peoples as if they still spoke the same sacred language Adam and Eve had spoken, but the writing was, well, that was  _ original _ . It required learning. It was wholly human, and it was ingenious.

Begrudgingly, he’d torn himself away from his studies and travelled to this little village. He knew he couldn’t stay in one place for too long, not when humanity was so new and developing so quickly. He needed to keep up with them, and now that they were spread so far and wide, he found himself quite busy.

And he had thought, really thought, that he would spend a few busy decades in this village, occasionally visiting other places but returning to them in the end. Maybe introduce writing to them - they hadn’t quite figured it out yet.

It had gone well, at first. He’d walked around, getting a feel of the place, and things had seemed fine. But then he’d heard grumbling, and muttering, and gossiping. Rumours of suspicious activities had surfaced. A few people had apparently been stoned to death earlier for infidelity and debauchery.

Aziraphale had really felt that he had work to do here.

But then he’d been given herb water to drink as a sign of trust by his host, the man whose house he was staying in.

The water in the drink had been foul and tainted. He’d already been hesitant about consuming anything, but if he had to, he was at least going to drink something clean. With a quick miracle, he’d made it drinkable.

The host had noticed.

Aziraphale admitted he’d been careless, but poisoning his corporation with soiled water was not his idea of a good time. Besides, people had been getting sick, he’d heard, and he didn’t wonder why.

His host, previously so generous and welcoming, had turned on him at once. He’d chased him out to the streets, gathering men as he shouted and chased him, and soon Aziraphale had found himself surrounded by angry and armed men. The whole thing had gotten a bit hostile.

They were blaming him for everything that had gone wrong in the village, all because of one harmless miracle.

“Witch! Devil!” the men grumbled, shaking their fists aggressively.

“Really, now!” Aziraphale was trying to stay calm, but this was quite unacceptable. “These accusations are quite unfounded…”

“You seduced my wife!” shouted one man.

“And my  _ son! _ ” exclaimed another.

“I did no such thing!” Aziraphale cried indignantly. “Really, you’ve got it all wrong - I came here to help -”

“We don’t need help from a devil!” the men yelled. “Leave! Die!” and then, “Get him!”

Things rather escalated, after that. The men charged, cast stones and whatever else they found on the ground. Aziraphale, white robes billowing, fled and ran towards the rocky hills nearby. The mob was relentless, and the angel had never been one for running. 

But run he did, because there was no reasoning with this crowd. He felt stones hit him, and before he managed to get away, blades slashed at him. He pushed past the sudden, unfamiliar pain, and kept running. He knew they couldn’t kill him, but they could discorporate him - and he was already dreading explaining the whole thing Upstairs.

He knew his best chance to lose the mob was to head for the rocky hills at the edge of the desert. Perhaps there was a place to hide, there - if he was fast enough, he could miracle himself hidden…

Aziraphale was just running past a high formation of rocks, the men hot on his heels, when he yelped in surprise. Something grabbed his arm and yanked him to the side, past dried vegetation.

Before he could comprehend what had happened, he was sitting in a rocky crevice, hidden from view, with the angry mob running past in enraged confusion. And he was sitting next to a very familiar demon.

Aziraphale stared at him in absolute shock, but then his expression melted into wary relief. He sighed.

“Crawly.” 

He peered through the vegetation and saw the men still looking for him. Crawly must have miracled them hidden. 

“ _ Devil? _ ” Crawly grinned. “How wrong do things have to go for you to be called a devil?”

“Oh, it’s ridiculous,” Aziraphale huffed. “One little miracle, and suddenly I’m being called a witch. It’s like they -”

He stared at Crawly, eyes widening in realisation.

“You!” he gasped. “It was  _ you _ , wasn’t it? The one who’s been seducing people, letting cattle loose, spoiling water and whatnot…”

“Well,” the demon smirked. “All in a day’s work, really. You should’ve come here sooner.”

Aziraphale was scandalised. “I had planned on helping these people for at least a decade or two! I can’t even show my face here, now.”

He turned his eyes away in bitter disappointment.

“Oh, there’ll be other villages,” Crawly drawled. “They’ll welcome you with open arms.”

“As long as you’re not there first,” Aziraphale pursed his lips. Crawly gave him a toothy smile, and it made him nervous.

The demon was eyeing him. 

“Your corporation is injured,” he remarked casually.

Aziraphale blinked in confusion, but then realised that it was true. The pain and ache hit him in a wave. His head hurt from where a lucky stone had struck him, and his arms stung with gashes from the men’s blades. This was the first time he’d felt physical pain and it was deeply unsettling. He willed himself calm. He touched the bleeding welt on his temple gingerly. He stared at his bloodied fingers and groaned.

“Oh, look at the state of it,” he grumbled. “And my robes!” The beautiful cloth was torn and bloodied.

“So, miracle it better,” Crawly shrugged. Aziraphale glanced at him and averted his eyes.

“It’ll heal,” he mumbled in reply. 

“Yes, immediately after you miracle it.”

“The Upstairs wouldn’t like it,” the angel muttered; as much as he didn’t want to tell Crawly, he desperately needed to talk to someone. The demon was the only one on Earth who might, even just a little bit, understand. It would be very easy to miracle himself better, but… 

“What?”

“I’m supposed to take good care of my corporation,” Aziraphale huffed and shifted uncomfortably. “And I’m not supposed to waste miracles for my own benefit.”

He bowed his head and felt like he’d failed. He’d been reckless and his corporation had been injured because of it. He knew Heaven was keeping track of his miracles and if he used too many on himself, they wouldn’t like it. Aziraphale was on Earth for the humans, not to waste miracles on himself, for his own stupid mistakes.

Crawly didn’t say anything. Aziraphale had expected him to laugh, or mock him, but there was nothing. He didn’t dare to look. There was something about those serpentine eyes that made him fumble and want to tell him all kinds of things - confide in him some of the horrible, terrifying doubts he sometimes (secretly and deep down) had about the way Heaven was managing certain things.

From the corner of his eye, Aziraphale saw Crawly wave his hand over his arm, and he gasped and jolted as something like liquid fire licked him. He stared at the demon with widened eyes and then looked at his arm. The wound was gone and all that was left was the tear in the cloth.

“You…” he gulped. Crawly shrugged.

“What do you know. It worked.”

Aziraphale stared. He touched his arm gingerly and found it perfectly unmarred. The strange burning had dissipated as soon as it had begun. Had Crawly just…? He had just…

“You miracled it away,” he whispered.

“I know,” Crawly replied. 

“Is it even… allowed?”

“Probably not. Did it hurt?”

“It burned,” Aziraphale frowned; it was an accurate enough description. “But… it wasn’t painful, not really.”

Crawly raised his hand again, brows arched in a question. Aziraphale watched him, conflicted. This could not be right. An angel was not supposed to let a demon miracle his hurt away. But… his corporation was injured and he was hesitant to heal it himself. Surely, nobody would notice if someone else did it for him.

With a numbness caused by the thrill and fear of his decision, he relaxed his stance and nodded. He watched with fascination as the demon raised his hand, and was drawn to those eyes - how they focused on the task, looking almost serene. He didn’t want to be captivated, but couldn’t help it.

Crawly miracled away the cuts on his arms, the welt on his head, and as a finishing touch, cleaned off the blood and fixed the tears in the fabric. The burn of the miracles was the strangest thing he’d ever felt, and the meaning of the superfluous miracles he dared not think too hard about.

Aziraphale examined his healed corporation and then raised his eyes on Crawly. There were so many questions - how was this possible, would Heaven know, would  _ Hell  _ know,  _ why did you do this? _

The way Crawly looked at him, with a smirk slowly spreading on his lips, those yellow eyes fixed on him… it made Aziraphale want to hide. But at the same time, he was grateful. 

“Thank-” he began, but Crawly interrupted him.

“Don’t,” he made a face. “Better keep this quiet. I don’t think my side would be pleased with what I did.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale nodded. It was true, of course. He glanced upwards quickly. “Likewise. Well. Is there anything I can do?”

As soon as he’d said it, he realised he had asked a demon. He had put himself in a position where he  _ owed  _ a demon, and this could be the worst thing he had ever done. He swallowed his panic and met Crawly’s eyes as bravely as he could.

“Well,” the demon grinned, seemingly understanding what he was thinking - and that was the most unsettling thing of all. “If the situation ever arises, you could repay the favour in kind.”

Aziraphale sighed a little sigh of relief and smiled.

“Of course,” he nodded. Heaven might not approve, but Heaven didn’t need to know.

He turned his head and tensed as he heard the voices of the men once more. He clasped his hands together and wrung them without noticing - he suddenly remembered he was not welcome here anymore.

“They won’t find us,” Crawly said, leaning on the rocks and stretching his neck, running a hand through his long, red curls. “Relax.”

Aziraphale swallowed. He couldn’t relax. Only now did it dawn on him how close to discorporation he’d come. His injuries were gone, but suddenly he remembered the sharp pain of a blade slicing through his flesh, the dizzying blow of the stone against his skull. 

He had witnessed death, natural, accidental, and violent, but only now did he have a concept of pain. His ails had been so minor, but he could imagine the horror of deep gashes, broken bones, the torture of a slow demise.

He hadn’t been prepared. He’d thought himself untouchable - he was divine, he was holy, he was there to help. He had never imagined the ones he was sent to protect could turn on him so fully.

His hands were shaking so he clasped them together in his lap and shut his eyes, head bowed. He took deep breaths - humans did it to calm themselves, so it had to work.

“Are you alr-” Crawly began a question, clearly changed his mind, and asked something else. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale replied in a voice which was a bit too high-pitched to be convincing. The demon raised a brow, and Aziraphale made the mistake of looking into his eyes.

“I’ve never been hurt before,” he found himself whispering before he could think better of it. “I’ve never been attacked, I- I’ve never been discorporated. And it must be so awful, so painful.” He stared at his hands, fidgeting with his ring. “It would really only take one blade, one well-aimed strike, and... it would be over.”

His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He squeezed them together so hard that his knuckles shone white.

“Pain is a part of life,” Crawly said, then. “You have that corporation to experience humanity. And sometimes they get hurt. Sometimes they’re in pain. That’s just the way it is.”

Aziraphale hazarded a look at the demon. He was leaning on the rocks, staring at the stones in front of him.

“Now you know what it’s like,” Crawly shrugged. “You’ll understand them better.”

Aziraphale stared. There was a point, there. He knew pain, now, and though he’d always been able to empathise with humans in pain, he’d never truly known. 

“I suppose that’s true,” he whispered. Crawly tilted his head and looked at him for a moment. Then, a small, wicked smile tugged at his lips.

“You know,” he drawled. “Now that you know pain, you should try a few other things. Humanity suffers a lot, but they’re also good at pleasure. Ever tried sleeping, for instance?”

“Sloth is a sin,” Aziraphale tutted. “And why would I sleep? I don’t need sleep.”

“You don’t  _ need  _ many things, but you could  _ enjoy  _ a lot of things,” Crawly grinned at him. “How can you know what the humans are truly experiencing without trying the things they do? They consume food, and drink, and partake in some  _ very  _ stimulating activities-”

“Absolutely not,” Aziraphale interrupted him sharply, his cheeks suddenly feeling rather hot. “I- I’m not interested in any of that.” 

Except, the herbal drink might have been quite nice with unspoiled water. It had smelled quite aromatic. And he had often wondered what the bread they always made tasted like - it seemed like such a simple thing, but the scent of it was…

_ No! _ The demon was trying to lead him down a path he simply could not follow. He glanced at him, and to his horror, saw Crawly watching him with a smirk. Aziraphale felt exposed and embarrassed, not to mention ashamed for even thinking about such carnal things. He was an angel. There was no reason for him to consume anything.

The mob of men walked past, returning to the village while muttering and grumbling, and Aziraphale froze. He let out a quivering breath when they had passed.

“They’ll forget about you in a generation,” Crawly said dismissively. 

“I suppose so,” Aziraphale hummed. He glanced at the demon. The pain still lingered in his mind, and he had to ask. “Have you ever been discorporated? Or… injured?”

Crawly regarded him long before answering. 

“No. So far so good.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale lowered his eyes. A part of him had hoped that maybe the demon would understand, maybe he would share his fears, but then he realised it was ridiculous. A demon would not fear. A demon would not  _ understand _ .

“But I’m no stranger to pain,” Crawly said in a low voice, and it drew Aziraphale’s eyes on his. They were more snake-like than before and Aziraphale understood. The Fall, Hell… demons knew pain, of course they did. As far as he could tell, Hell was nothing but suffering. The Fall the greatest agony in all of creation.

Aziraphale didn’t know what to say, so he just stared into the yellow eyes until Crawly turned his gaze away and got up.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you out of here so that they won’t see you.”

Aziraphale followed the demon silently and Crawly hid them under a miracle. They walked far from the village until it disappeared from sight.

“You better keep walking,” Crawly nodded towards the sun-scorched horizon. “There’s a village that way, and roads to others.”

Aziraphale turned to look and nodded. He knew thanking was out of the question, and it would’ve felt wrong, anyway - he was leaving the little village to a demon, essentially giving it to Hell. In his mind, he vowed to sway three villages to Heaven for every one that Crawly claimed for Hell.

“I’ll see you around, Guardian,” Crawly walked away with a wave of his hand.

Aziraphale watched his dark silhouette disappear behind the rocks and turned away with a sigh. There was a long walk ahead of him.


	5. Sodom

Crawly was in his element in Sodom. These people really knew how to live, and tempting them was the easiest job he’d had so far. 

Both Sodom and Gomorrah were just so much fun. None of the people were crawling before God, asking for pointless things or being too afraid to enjoy themselves.

Crawly had, of course, a lot to do with it. Time and time again he was surprised at how quickly a temptation or a suggestion would take root - it spread like wildfire, and Crawly’s whispers were the spark in dry grass. In the end, he’d done very little and the humans had done most of the work for him. He, of course, took full credit, and Hell was pleased.

Something had changed in the last few years, though, he could tell: the aggression had accelerated, the cities had become more restless, the people were relentless in their quest for pleasure. It felt like a downward spiral, and Crawly supposed there was a change coming. He didn’t know which direction it would take, but he was pretty sure Hell would have plenty of new souls to play with by the end. He’d enjoy the ride until then.

So all in all, things were going great. He was sitting in a tavern, drinking. Alcohol was a relatively new thing for him, but it definitely merited more investigation. It was amazing and the effect on his corporation was always surprising. Not always pleasant, but surprising.

He closed his eyes and took in the smell of sin in the air. So much greed, envy, lust…  _ perfect _ . Lives lived to the fullest. Nothing held back, men and women letting their restraints go and finding pleasure in so many wonderful ways.

Suddenly, a much less sinful scent reached him. He opened his eyes and scanned the rowdy crowd. It didn’t take him long to notice Aziraphale, in his usual whites, standing in the corner. Or rather, being cornered; a group of local men were around him.

The angel looked quite flustered and uncomfortable, but in that ever-polite way of his.

There was no doubt in Crawly’s mind of what the men were after. Aziraphale was new, he was different, and they  _ wanted _ .

Sodom had for so long existed in its own little bubble where everyone was up for anything that the locals assumed everybody else also lived like that. It was an alien concept to them that a newcomer might not want to have wild sex on first meeting, and Aziraphale’s reluctance was seen as nothing but a game.

Crawly watched, not moving a muscle, straining his ears to hear what they were saying.

“What did you come here for, then?” a man grinned at the angel. 

“I just wanted to visit,” Aziraphale explained, his voice level but eyes darting between the men accosting him. “To see what it was like here…”

His answer did nothing to calm them men. If anything, it spurred them on.

“We’ll show you what it’s like,” another man leered, leaning closer. Aziraphale stepped away, but bumped into yet another man who grabbed him and smelled his hair with a smirk.

Something hot roiled inside Crawly, and he realised it was anger.

“Really, I must go…” the angel said, managing to escape the man. There was an anxious edge to his voice, now.

“We’ll come with you,” another man said, pulling him closer and looking at him with such hunger. The desperation in Aziraphale’s eyes made Crawly slam his drink on the table and stride over.

“You’re done here,” he growled at the men, punching the one holding Aziraphale and pulling the angel by his side. The protective arm around his shoulders was only to give the men the right signal, obviously.

“Who are you to claim him?” the men exclaimed angrily. “We found him first, give him back! We’re not done!”

Crawly was definitely done. He let his demonic aura ooze out at them and the men backed off at the force of his stare. He walked away, took Aziraphale with him, and they escaped upstairs.

Crawly didn’t have a room there, but the owner’s room was miraculously free and unlocked. He ushered the angel in and locked the door behind them. He let him go and sighed, leaning against the door.

When he looked at Aziraphale, he was met with fear. The angel was staring at him, frozen and wide-eyed, his expression not unlike the one he had sported with the men. There was also a grim, smouldering defiance glinting deep in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

For a moment, Crawly was confused, but then he realised. Aziraphale thought - the angel  _ actually thought _ \- that he was going to…

“Aziraphale,” Crawly croaked. A shudder ran through the angel. 

He thought Crawly was going to do what the men were threatening to do. The angel thought he was going to force himself on him, that that was why he’d grabbed him, hauled him here… in retrospect, somebody’s bedroom might not have been the best place to take him.

Maybe he shouldn’t have used his aura so generously.

“Look, it’s alright,” Crawly swallowed. “I’m- I just- I had to do something.”  _ Please understand _ . “No need to smite anyone. They weren’t going to let you go, they- I had to…”

Aziraphale stared at him and those clear eyes almost burned a hole in his chest. Crawly had to look away. He didn’t dare move, lest the angel get the wrong idea. Then, mercifully, Aziraphale let out a little sigh and relaxed his stance.

_ Thank Satan _ , Crawly thought as the angel began fidgeting with his ring. 

He didn’t have time to analyse why he was so relieved that an angel didn’t think he’d do evil.

“Is it always like this, here?” Aziraphale asked cordially. He was still eyeing Crawly warily, and his voice was a bit too high to be normal.

“Pretty much,” Crawly replied. His mouth was dry. “They don’t get a lot of strangers here.”

“I can see why,” the angel breathed and looked away. He was standing in the middle of the floor and Crawly couldn’t stay still any longer. He paced around the room, staying as far from the angel as possible.

“Everyone here is sort of the same,” he explained. “Willing, I mean. So… I don’t know. Either they expect everyone else to be the same, or…”  _ or they find resistance appealing _ , he thought, but didn’t say it. It wasn’t a thing the angel wanted to hear.

He seemed to get the idea anyway and shook his fair head slightly, looking more sad than anything. 

Crawly had circled the room and the angel half-way, and sat down on the bed. Aziraphale watched him.

“Have you been here long?” the angel asked.

Crawly shrugged. “I suppose. It’s my kind of place.”

Aziraphale looked absolutely appalled.

“Not like that!” Crawly hastened to correct. “Not like… I don’t go around forcing myself on people, for Satan’s sake.”

The angel watched him for a moment, but then averted his eyes. He sighed and came to sit on the bed next to Crawly. A measured distance away, obviously, but Crawly was still surprised.

“But you do  _ enjoy  _ this place?” Aziraphale inquired, clear eyes on him with a slight hint of judgement shining in them.

_ Oh, don’t give me that holier-than-thou look _ , Crawly thought. “I do. What of it?”

“Nothing,” the angel turned his eyes away. “I suppose it’s… it’s what you would like. All this… sin.”

“What can I say? Sin is usually fun.”

Aziraphale actually laughed. Well, not so much  _ laughed  _ as let out a breath that was halfway to a chuckle. It counted as a laugh in Crawly’s book.

“I came here to see if the rumours were true,” he smiled sadly. “Whether nobody here was righteous.”

He stared at his hands for a long while.

“I think you should leave,” the angel said, then, looking at him very seriously.

“Wh- I mean, fine, whatever,” Crawly swallowed. “But this room isn’t mine, and those men are still down there, so watch yourself…”

“No, I meant you should leave the city.”

He met the angel’s eyes and there was fear shining in them. There was an unsaid warning hidden there, and Crawly frowned.

“Why?”

Aziraphale swallowed. “I’m not going to reveal Her plan to a demon,” he whispered, not looking at him. “I’m not going to warn a demon.”

“I think you just did,” Crawly retorted. The angel didn’t need to say it - it was obvious in his eyes, and Crawly knew, of course; God would not allow a city as fun as this to thrive. It was a real shame.

Suddenly, Aziraphale straightened himself with a gasp. “Oh no.”

Crawly heard a loud, banging crash from somewhere outside, and then people were screaming. He ran to the window and peered out - in the dark of the night, in the distance, he could see Gomorrah on fire. Flaming stones began falling on the city and soon Sodom caught fire, as well. High above, an angel oversaw the impending carnage.

Aziraphale got on his feet and came to the window. “Sandalphon,” he gasped as he saw the angel. “We need to leave! They won’t leave anyone alive, the destruction will be…”

A booming thud shook the building as a boulder fell nearby.

“Let’s go,” Crawly said through clenched teeth and hurried to the door. The angel followed him.

It was complete chaos outside. People were screaming and running, trying to find shelter from the fire raining down on them. There was nowhere to hide, however, Crawly could see that. God’s wrath was pitiless, and everything would burn. Crawly’s beautiful city was soon going to be nothing but ash. 

“This way to the gates,” he called to the angel, but Aziraphale grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“No,” he breathed, anguish in his eyes. “The gate is… they will be at the gate. Guarding it.”

Crawly’s eyes widened. Heaven would let nobody escape, and oh, it was almost as cruel as Hell could be.

“Fine,” he barked, feverishly thinking about the options. Discorporation didn’t appeal to him at all. “Fine. Are the walls guarded?”

“Probably not?”

“Then follow me,” Crawly said and pulled the angel along by his sleeve.

He knew this city inside out. He knew there was a hole in the wall on the other side of the city, used often by criminals and smugglers. It seemed like the only option. He took the angel through the destruction, dragged him past suffering people who the angel instinctively wanted to console. All the while he sought cover under roofs and behind walls so that the angel above would not see them. He pulled Aziraphale down a small alley, over burning corpses.

“Yesss,” Crawly hissed as he saw the familiar crates in their usual spot. “Help me with these!”

He dragged the crates aside, with Aziraphale’s help, and a crawlspace through the wall was revealed.

“Hurry up!” he urged, and got on all fours to start crawling to safety. Aziraphale took one last look at the burning city, and followed.

As they emerged on the other side, Crawly hid them under a quick miracle and they kept running. Crawly stopped on a hill and took shelter among the trees. The view down to his lovely cities was impressive.

Sodom and Gomorrah were nothing but a sea of flame, now; the sky was red and black with fire and smoke. The walls were intact, cruelly preventing anyone from escaping. And there, at the gate of Sodom, Crawly saw another angel, wings spread and sword aflame, making sure nobody got out. Except…

“What is that?” he squinted at a white, person-shaped thing outside the gate, alone and unbothered.

“Oh, Sandalphon,” Aziraphale murmured, almost to himself. “How could you?”

“What? What is it?”

“A righteous woman,” the angel breathed. “Turned to salt.”

Crawly stared at him, mouth agape, and then turned to look at the salt woman again. Heaven made no sense to him. Never had.

They stood there, hidden from sight, and watched the cities burn. Soon the screams died, the boulders stopped falling, and the two angels overseeing the destruction flew over the cities, making sure the job was done. When they were satisfied, they ascended back to Heaven and left the cities in ruin.

It was a long time before either of them said anything. Crawly lamented the loss of the best cities he’d ever seen, and knew Aziraphale mourned the loss of life, no matter how sinful.

“Wait a minute,” Crawly said after a while. “Why did they start the attack with you still in there?”

Aziraphale glanced at him, tearing his eyes away from the embers of the cities. “They didn’t know I was there.”

“Why were you there, then?”

“I needed to be,” the angel breathed desperately. “They sent Sandalphon and Anael in to see if there were good people still there, and… I thought there must be, but how could only two of them find it out? They didn’t even go through the whole city.” He swallowed and looked guilty. “I thought I could help… or maybe positively influence the people so that they would give up their sins and…”

Crawly would have smiled, but the moment felt wrong. The stupid angel had wanted to single-handedly save the most sinful places of Earth because he didn’t think the other angels bothered to look hard enough.

“I think the decision was made long beforehand,” Crawly hummed. 

The fact that Aziraphale made no sound to deny this spoke volumes.

They watched the sun rise over the smoking ruins and parted ways. 

Crawly wandered towards the next city in thought. It was a real shame about Sodom, but he knew others would rise in its place. Humans were so easy to tempt, in the end - they had a deep desire for pleasure and easy life. Who could blame them?

It was only a matter of time.

His mind kept going back to Aziraphale in that tavern. In retrospect, Crawly was sure he could have saved himself from the men… but  _ would  _ he have? All that talk about wasting miracles on himself the last time they’d met… how far was the angel willing to go before he would spend a miracle for his own sake? Crawly found it hard to believe that he’d endure just anything, or be willing to be discorporated. But doubt nagged him.

He was also unsure of how to proceed with his own goal with the angel. Aziraphale clearly wasn’t comfortable with physical attention, if the harlot in Babel or the men here were concerned; but Crawly assumed they had just come on too strong. The men definitely had. Crawly remembered Aziraphale’s flustered face at the woman’s advances, and something hot and pleasant rushed through him. The angel could be tempted, he knew it. It would just take time.

A slow game with a priceless reward.

He’d just have to make sure nobody else got there first. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The woman turned into salt was, in the Bible story, Lot's wife. Lot was apparently the only righteous man in the city so God spared him and his family. They were told to leave and not look back. His wife did, however, look back, and was turned into salt for that. Because... that's fair...?


	6. Thebes, Egypt

Aziraphale bowed his head in gratitude as his bowl was again filled with wine. The taste of delicious food was still on his tongue as he raised his cup with the people. It had been a wonderful banquet, through and through, and he enjoyed the joyous atmosphere.

Aziraphale like Thebes, he’d decided. It was so rich with everything, and there was so much to learn. He was a regular at most of the banquets of the wealthy and often visited the workers’ feasts, as well. Though, of course, he would give more than he took the poorer the people were. 

At a banquet of this proportion, where wine was flowing as if it was beer, he didn’t have to worry about anyone’s wealth. His hosts were one of the richest families in the region and lacked nothing. Aziraphale had spent quite a while with them, subtly directing them towards a better fate, and knew he’d made a difference. The head of the family was a good man, righteous and fair. One for Heaven, and one to guide others to Heaven, as well.

Aziraphale smiled to himself and laughed with the guests. He’d had a lot of wine. He loved wine.

It had taken him a lot of fretting and worrying before he’d dared to have a taste. He knew how other angels felt about consuming things; they didn’t need them, so what was the point?

But Aziraphale was ever curious and had come to love the scent of bread, of vegetables stewing with herbs and spices. There were so many foods the humans had come up with, and their dishes differed so much region by region. It was a constant culinary adventure, travelling from place to place.

No matter how hard he had tried to ignore and forget Crawly’s words during that unfortunate misunderstanding in Mesopotamia, the idea constantly came to haunt him. Wasn’t he sent here to help humanity? To empathise? To experience what it was like?

Wasn’t eating and drinking a part of that?

The moment the first drops of rich wine had passed his lips and he’d taken his first bite of freshly baked bread, he’d known it was something he could not do without if he were to stay on Earth. 

Guilt had, of course, followed. He was an angel, he didn’t need food or drink. But he  _ wanted _ . And oh, surely it was a sin. Gluttony, a terrible vice - and wasn’t he a prime example of that, eating only for the sake of eating, not because he needed it?

He’d warred with himself for a long time, but delicious scents and flavours had swayed him. Surely it wasn’t that bad. He needed to blend in, so of course he needed to eat. He was doing it because it was a part of his job. Of course.

When he had enough wine, he didn’t worry about things like that anymore. Wine made him giddy, and dizzy, and so  _ free _ .

The banquet was so full of life and love, the wine so freely flowing, and his mind so perfectly hazy, that he almost didn’t notice a lithe, red-headed figure slide into the seat next to him.

“To your health,” Crawly grinned and raised his cup at him. Aziraphale blinked in surprise, but smiled back and mirrored the gesture. He licked the wine from his lips and watched the demon. The yellow in his eyes was emphasised by the dark kohl he was wearing. The large, beaded collar around his shoulders, black and yellow, matched his colours as it rested against his bare skin. 

Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure how to feel about this. He had always tried to blend in, of course, and worn the kind of clothing the people would wear, but Crawly seemed to take it to the extreme. Aziraphale would  _ never _ , for example, paint his face or dare to stand out with the latest fashions. He liked to follow the times one step behind or dress more in the way he had back at the beginning, as it was often less intimidating for people and made him endearing to them. Or so he imagined. He raised his brows at the demon.

“I didn’t know you were invited,” he noted airily.

“I didn’t know you drank,” Crawly retorted with a wicked smirk.

“I’m… blending in.”

“You’re doing a great job,” the demon laughed. Aziraphale was too tipsy to take it as anything but a compliment. He looked into the snake-eyes and realised there was a stupid smile stuck on his lips. He wasn’t sure why. It was almost like he’d missed seeing them. Must be the wine talking. It had been a while, he hadn’t met the demon since Sodom.

“What?” Crawly grunted, and Aziraphale realised he was staring. He turned his eyes away and took another sip. He glanced at Crawly warily and saw him biting his lip and grinning, eyeing him slowly from head to toe. Was Crawly judging his outfit? Aziraphale was sure he was blending in. He might have been wearing something a bit more covering than the rest, but he’d never received any negative comments about it. He felt his cheeks burning.  _ Must  _ be the wine. 

“It’s a good banquet,” the demon commented, mercifully turning his gaze away.

“A banquet of good people,” Aziraphale nodded with a sigh of relief, smiling at the host.

“Mm,” Crawly smacked his lips. “His daughter’s not  _ that  _ good.”

“W-what?”

“What do you think I’m here for?” the demon smirked, his eyes flashing. He actually winked. Aziraphale swallowed.

“Oh, no,” he gasped. “Please don’t tell me you’re here to tempt her… I’ve worked so hard on this family!”

Crawly shrugged. “I’ve got work to do, as well. I guess  _ you  _ just have to work harder.”

Aziraphale was dismayed. He could not let all his efforts go to waste. The young girl needed to have a bright future, not fall under demonic influence. He would work harder. For his host, for her.

“Don’t look so glum about it,” the demon tutted and miracled Aziraphale’s cup full. “Worry about it tomorrow. Right now, I think the best we can both do is drink more wine.”

It was a weighty argument, Aziraphale felt. He sighed and raised his cup at Crawly again.

A few hours later darkness had fallen outside. Aziraphale was feeling pleasantly numb and found it was easy to smile at anything. Crawly had suggested they leave, and so they were now walking by the river, both their steps a bit unsteady. They both had pitchers full of wine, which miraculously never emptied.

“I think it’s just- just marvellous what they’ve done here,” Aziraphale sighed in wonder, glancing around at the city. “The writing! I’ve had so much to do, so much to learn, I can barely keep up. It’s fascinating!”

“The hubris of the royalty is what I like,” Crawly smirked. “Have you seen the tombs they build? Many of their dead have it better than the living.” He took a swig.

“It’s a marvel of arci- arch- building skill,” he agreed. Words were getting difficult. He watched the demon by his side and couldn’t hold his tongue.

“I see you’ve embraced the fashion.”

Crawly raised his brows at him, but a grin spread on his lips. Aziraphale regretted his words at once as the demon’s gaze lingered on him for far too long.

“And you’ve not,” Crawly hummed. “Don’t get me wrong. Nothing bad about that outfit. S’ a bit covering, is all.”

Aziraphale didn’t think it was particularly covering at all. His arms were bare and the fabric across his chest was so thin it was practically see-through.

“You- you would think that,” he huffed, nodding towards the demon’s own clothing, which was basically a loin cloth and accessories. It was exactly what people wore, and were expected to wear, and Aziraphale’s cheeks burned. He was fighting a losing battle, because no matter how you looked at it, Crawly was the one blending in better.

“Can’t blame the people!” the demon spread his arms, wine audibly sloshing in the pitcher. “In this climate, less is better. You should try it.”

Aziraphale’s reply was lost in his own pitcher as he drank. Just as well - the words didn’t mean anything anyway. After centuries of wearing long robes, it was hard for him to adjust to any other kind of outfit. He was a creature of habit, he’d come to find, and wished fashion would just stop evolving.

He could feel Crawly’s eyes on him and as he looked, he saw the demon trying to hold back a grin.

“What?”

“You’d look good in what I’m wearing,” the demon drawled, eyes running him up and down once more.

“Oh, I highly doubt it,” Aziraphale muttered and quickly changed the subject.

They kept walking and drinking, and the night was getting more and more pleasant with each sip of wine. Aziraphale soon forgot his embarrassment and that strange feeling in his gut when Crawly eyed him in a particular way. The wine was delicious, the sky was full of stars, and he could talk with someone who could relate to his own path through the centuries.

“S-so then, then I said,” Crawly slurred with a wild grin on his face, “I sssaid, ‘well,  _ your  _ camel looks like a mule!’ Ssso, then, it… well, something happened, and the camel… you know how camels are.”

Aziraphale giggled. He didn’t know what was funny, but it was  _ funny _ . Crawly got tangled in his own feet and fell over, somehow managing not to spill his pitcher. Aziraphale laughed even harder and extended a hand to pull him up. Crawly’s yellow eyes seemed to shine in the dark and Aziraphale smiled. The demon grabbed his hand, but Aziraphale hadn’t been prepared. The force of the demon’s pull toppled him, and soon the angel found himself flailing in the river, his wine spilt on the grass.

When he managed to steady himself and stay the right way up in the water, he saw Crawly was gasping for air with laughter. 

“You did that on surpose! I mean purpose!” Aziraphale moaned. Crawly got a grip on himself and helped him back to shore, still wheezing with drunken laughter.

When Aziraphale was back on land, his clothes dripping wet and clinging to him, he couldn’t help but join in the laughter. They both fell on the grass, staring at the night sky as mirth shook them.

The world was spinning in Aziraphale’s eyes, but he didn’t care. The night was warm, his clothes pleasantly cool now, and the wine tingled in his fingers. With a sigh, his laughter faded into a smile and he turned his head to see Crawly laying on his left, yellow eyes on him.

“D’you know,” the demon slurred. “You’re not bad for an angel.”

“Angels aren’t bad, anyway,” Aziraphale retorted, unable to stop smiling.

“You know w-,” Crawly waved his hand lazily. “You know what I mean. You’re more interesting than the rest.”

Aziraphale stared. “Just how drunk are you?”

“Drunk enough,” the demon grinned, yellow eyes boring into his own.

“I- I bet my side would be very upset,” Aziraphale mumbled. “At this. And at that. And… that.”

“Sso would mine,” Crawly huffed. “But I mean, who’s going to tell? Not me.”

“Not me, either.”

“I like that you drink,” the demon hummed, eyes hooded and fixed on him.

“I like to drink,” he replied and didn’t know why his voice came out as a soft breath.

“I like that you eat,” Crawly went on, his words a murmur. Aziraphale saw those yellow eyes glancing at his lips before slowly returning to meet his eyes again. “I know there’s… there are other things you’d like, as well.” Pause, another slow look at his lips. “I can show you.”

Aziraphale’s whole body was numb as the demon held him with his serpentine gaze. He wasn’t sure what was implied, but he knew it was  _ something _ ; and he shouldn’t  _ like  _ that something, he shouldn’t be intrigued, he shouldn’t want to ask him what it was… but Crawly’s gaze was so compelling. It seemed to him like the demon was trying to drink in his very soul with that look, and with the way Aziraphale’s mouth went dry and he couldn’t look away from those yellow, shining eyes, he knew he was closer to danger than he’d ever been.

“I- I should sober up,” he breathed and tore his eyes away from Crawly’s. The spell was broken, and he sat up.

“No,  _ don’t _ ,” the demon groaned, but Aziraphale had already begun. In a moment it was done, and the bitter taste of old wine on his tongue seemed only fitting. He glanced at Crawly, still sprawled on the ground, a look of utter disappointment on his face.

“You should sober up, too,” Aziraphale said hastily and didn’t dare to keep his eyes on him for long. He needed to leave, needed to be alone - he wasn’t sure what had happened, but he couldn’t stay there anymore. He got on his feet.

“Ngh,” Crawly moaned from the ground. “S’no fun being sober… have more wine?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “It’s not safe to sleep here,” he reminded the demon. “You should go home.”

“Don’t wanna,” Crawly moped. “Can I come over to yours?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Aziraphale’s heart was pounding painfully fast. “Good night, Crawly.”

Without another look at the drunken demon, he turned and hurried away.

Only when he was safely in his own little home did he dare to let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. With that breath, he felt like all air in his lungs was sucked out, and he fumbled to his bed, sitting down to steady himself. His hands were shaking, his whole body was shaking. 

He closed his eyes and took several deep, calming breaths. Serpentine eyes drifted into his mind, with that languid look, and he pressed his hands on his face as if trying to erase the past few hours from his head.

Aziraphale was sure the demon had tried to tempt him. Angels and demons couldn’t just drink together and laugh and have fun, of course not. There was always an ulterior motive, a sinister reason to everything. He shouldn’t have been surprised by this, and yet… it was so easy to forget, sometimes. He’d had fun, they had talked and laughed and...

And Aziraphale was terrified when he realised how close to giving in he’d been.  _ It must have been the wine _ , he tried to convince himself. In his right mind, he would never even consider asking a demon to show him  _ anything _ . 

He wrapped his arms around himself and tried to calm himself. What kind of an angel  _ wanted  _ anything from a demon? 

The night was long, the stars gave him no comfort, and She did not answer his pleas.


	7. Somewhere in Egypt

Crawly ran. It was all he could do now, just run and run and hope to Satan the angry men would lose his track.

He could hear them nearing and knew he could not get away without a little miracle. He clutched his stomach - he had to, because he was afraid he’d drop something on the way if he didn’t. Just a small miracle, it’s all he needed, but it was so hard to focus his mind on anything. The pain was numbing, he was starting to lose feeling in his legs. His head was buzzing, his vision blurring.

With his last energy, he cast a miracle as he neared the river, and momentarily melded into the shadows of the shrubberies. He hunched down until he couldn’t hear his pursuers anymore, and fumbled closer to the water.

He couldn’t get far and fell on his knees near the riverbank. Moonlight glittered on the water as he collapsed and laid on his back with a hiss.

The Egyptians really were rather shrewd, he’d come to find. Very loyal to their own gods, and the ones Crawly had come across in a little village and tried to tempt hadn’t reacted well when they had seen his eyes and drawn a few conclusions of their own.

_ Apep _ , they’d called him, and attacked him in Ra’s honour. Somehow, a deity of chaos in snake-form, Ra’s enemy, wasn’t very popular among the people Crawly had visited. It had still been a bit of an overkill for them to lash out like that. 

_ Ironic, in a way, _ Crawly thought as he lay there and let out a careful breath. It was he who had started the whole thing, way back when. Appeared as a serpent to a few people, and lo and behold, a myth was born.

Such a popular myth, in fact, that it had now almost discorporated him. It still might.

He knew he was in bad shape - bleeding stab wounds and bruises all over, a general mess of a corporation. Their blades had struck him before he’d managed to prepare, and the first blow had come from behind.

He had been careless. Making his eyes seem normal to people required constant effort, continuous miracles to make people ignore and forget that there was anything strange about them at all. He wished he could hide them, somehow, to prevent exactly these kinds of slip-ups. He’d been careless, and was now paying for it.

Crawly tried to muster his power, but he was too weak. He knew he could miracle himself better, but it was impossible to concentrate on anything - the pain was unlike anything he’d experienced on Earth before. He stared at the stars between the leaves of the tree he lay under, and realised this might be it. His first discorporation. Did it have to be so bloody slow? He’d rather just be done with it, if this was the way it had to go.

He didn’t want to explain this in Hell. They’d laugh. And who knew how long it would take for him to get a new body, knowing Dagon’s infernal layers of bureaucracy. He’d been enjoying Egypt, they were doing some very interesting stuff here. The kings and queens were such a pleasure to tempt.

Crawly squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth as a wave of pain rolled through him. Couldn’t this just end? He could tell the grass and sand under him were wet with blood. It was only a matter of time before a crocodile or another beast would find him. Well… at least that would be it.

He blinked his eyes open. There was a familiar scent in the air and his heart skipped. He turned his head to the side, and saw something glowing white in the moonlight across the river. Whether Crawly wanted to or not, his mouth didn’t care; a smile spread on his lips.

Aziraphale was there and it warmed him; he had never been so relieved and thankful to see an angel in his life as he was now, bleeding out in the bushes. When his brain caught up with his body, he felt uneasy. This was  _ not  _ a good thing - he did not want the angel to see him this weak. He was powerless. If Aziraphale wanted to harm him, he could. If he were to pour holy water on him, Crawly would be unable to resist.

It was very undemonic to be at someone’s mercy like that.

But Crawly didn’t have a choice, either way. Aziraphale stood by the river and glanced around. When he saw nobody, he stepped on the water and hastily walked across it. 

“Crawly?” Aziraphale whispered as he arrived on the other side and approached uncertainly. “Is it you?”

“S’me alright,” Crawly replied, his voice slightly slurry. Ah, yes… he’d lost quite a bit of blood.

“Oh… oh dear,” Aziraphale’s eyes were wide and scared as he arrived by his side and took in the damage. “What happened to you?”

“Just a bit of an argument, really,” Crawly mumbled. “I miscalculated.”

Aziraphale knelt by his side. His eyes were firmly on Crawly’s, full of compassion and fear. Crawly stared back. He blinked in an attempt to clear his vision, but his eyes found it hard to focus. He swallowed. The moonlight caught in Aziraphale’s fluffy hair and gave him a cold, divine halo. 

He knew that when his vision would fade to black, this light would be the last thing he’d see. It gave him an odd sense of comfort, something to focus his thoughts on.

It took him a while to realise Aziraphale’s hands were hovering above his midriff.

“May I…?” he asked in a low voice. Crawly looked at him and wanted to scream his agreement; but instead, he nodded silently.

Aziraphale began miracling the worst wound away and Crawly drew a sharp, hissing breath between his teeth at the sensation as his body tensed involuntarily. 

“Am I hurting you?” Aziraphale asked, alarmed.

“S’alright,” Crawly murmured with some effort. “It just stings. Probably all that divine stuff, you know. Just… keep going.”

Aziraphale continued his work. Crawly tried to focus on other things, but it was incredibly hard. The physical pain being eased by holy stinging was a very strange thing to experience. Pain to cure pain. Not in any way pleasant, but as the angel miracled away wound after wound, he began to feel better. He began to relax; he closed his eyes, laid there under the angel’s healing hands, and forgot that he could’ve miracled the rest of his ails away himself when Aziraphale had taken care of the worst ones.

But he didn’t. He let the angel do it, because Crawly couldn’t recall a time when someone else had shown such care for him. Demons tended to miracle their own battle wounds away, and not even consider lending a hand. It was weakness, after all, to be healed. To need healing. But the angel did it with such compassion and care and didn’t seem to remember that if Heaven found out, he’d be in trouble.

Crawly didn’t want him to stop.

When all the wounds were gone, the angel drew his hands away and watched him silently. Crawly sat up and leaned on his knees. He looked at Aziraphale, who was still eyeing him worriedly, as if trying to make sure he’d done a thorough enough job.

Saying thank you was out of the question, of course, as they had agreed a few centuries ago when he had healed the angel’s wounds.

“I’d consider this a debt paid,” Crawly hummed, instead. Aziraphale looked confused for a moment, and Crawly just knew the angel hadn’t even thought about the time when he’d been healed by a demon. He’d done all this because he’d seen someone suffering and had wanted to help.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed after a moment, remembering what he was alluding to. “Yes, well, quite.”

They sat side by side at the bank, watching the moonlight dance on the river. Crawly remembered the last time he’d met the angel, at the banquet in Thebes. They had also been by a river, in moonlight, and this situation rather reminded him of the time. They had parted in strange terms, the angel practically running away. Crawly didn’t remember what it had been about, exactly - he’d been drunk, and hadn’t bothered to sober up. He had a feeling he might have been too obvious with his tempting.

Frankly, he was surprised Aziraphale had come to his aid at all. The angel had seemed to be avoiding him since then; even in Thebes, when Crawly had tried to tempt the young woman and Aziraphale had tried to save her, the angel had never let himself be left in Crawly’s company. For years, Crawly had felt the angel’s scent, always lingering in a room when he entered, as if he’d just left. Escaped. And yet, there he was now. Sitting next to him in the moonlight.

Maybe a century or so had calmed him down from their last encounter.

“Care to tell me what happened?” the angel asked lightly.

“No.”

“Alright.”

“What are you doing here?” Crawly asked.

“I’ve been making my way northward,” Aziraphale hummed. “I stopped by. God’s work, and all that.”

“And what are you doing out on a riverbank at this hour?”

“I often walk by the river,” the angel replied. “There are so many people here, you see. I mean, generally. It gets a bit overwhelming at times, all those feelings, their hopes and cries… the suffering. I sometimes just need some peace.”

“Lucky for me,” Crawly hummed. Aziraphale looked at him with pursed lips. “No, really,” Crawly went on. “It was lucky. I was well on my way to being no more.”

“Oh,” the angel smiled uncertainly. “I wasn’t sure if you were being sarcastic.”

Crawly laughed. “I believe you.”

Aziraphale watched the river and fiddled with his ring. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before managing to speak.

“How did it… Did you know you were close to discorporation?” the angel’s eyes were anxious and shone too bright in the moonlight. “What did it feel like?”

“You don’t want to experience it, trust me,” Crawly grimaced. “Not fun. At all.”

“Well, obviously,” Aziraphale huffed. “But I just…”

“Look, I’m no expert on dying,” Crawly sighed in frustration. “But this was close, alright? And it just hurts, and you want it to end. That moment when you  _ know  _ you’re not going to make it is the worst, because you just have to sit there and suffer and  _ wait _ , and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

The angel was silent.

“Chances are,” Crawly went on, “that I’ll get discorporated at some point. It’s kind of a dangerous job, this. No point fretting about it. And you might get discorporated, too. Who knows, we might end up discorporating each other.”

Aziraphale’s gaze snapped on him, his eyes wide and shocked.

“I’m not going to attack you now, relax,” Crawly groaned. “I’m just saying, we might get in each other’s way. Work to do, right? Can’t let the other side get away with it.”

“I suppose,” the angel said with a small voice, watching his hands with a frown. “Well… should it come to that… I promise I won’t make you suffer.”

The statement shouldn’t have caused a rush of warmth to course through Crawly’s body, but it did. Aziraphale said it with such honesty, and in that moment Crawly knew the angel meant it. He would not see anyone suffer, not even his adversary, his polar opposite, his enemy. If they came to blows, he would show mercy.

“I know where to stab to make it instant,” Crawly replied softly. Aziraphale’s brief, nervous smile sealed it.

It was the strangest promise, but worth so much.

After a while, Crawly slapped his knees and got up. The angel followed suit.

“I think I’ll change location,” Crawly tutted bitterly. “I don’t like these people. Too stabby.”

“I’m sure none of it was your fault at all,” Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“I’m the victim here,” he crossed his arms. “Anyway. No point in staying. Your good influence is a serious damper to my plans.”

Aziraphale looked quite pleased with himself. “Good.”

Crawly pulled a face at him.

“Where will you go?” the angel asked, and Crawly stopped to think. The angel’s eyes were shining in the low light, brighter than any eyes ought to be, and the question had felt genuine - no scheme, no ulterior motive. He was genuinely curious, and if Crawly looked hard enough, he thought he could see a little bit of disappointment in those eyes. But why? 

“I’m not going to tell you,” he scoffed with a smirk. “You’ll follow and try to thwart me.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, but no words came out. He seemed to reconsider whatever he was about to say and looked away. 

“Obviously,” the angel smiled, then, eyes on the river.

“Well,” Crawly cleared his throat, eyes boring into the angel because he was desperate to know, to understand -  _ what were you going to say? _ “I better head out, then. Long way to go.”

Aziraphale nodded politely to him and Crawly began walking away. His feet carried him slowly and he found he didn’t want to leave yet. Something about the angel’s countenance suggested that there was something going on, that there was a chance; and Crawly really wanted to believe his tempting in the past hadn’t been in vain. Aziraphale already drank, and he ate, and Crawly considered those at least partially his victories. His doing. Even as he walked away, he could tell the angel wanted something, but Crawly would not offer - not this time, no, it had to come from Aziraphale, because if the angel made the suggestion, Crawly would be blameless. Whatever happened, it would be the angel’s initiative that caused it.

“Unless,” the angel called after him, and his words nailed Crawly to the ground. He grinned, but arranged his face into perfect neutrality before turning to look at him.

Aziraphale stood there, pale in the moonlight, fidgeting with his ring and watching him nervously.

“Unless you would like a drink? They make very good beer here, where I’m staying. You- you’ve lost a lot of blood, you should probably have a drink to get your strength back.”

It was all nonsense and Crawly liked it. He already had his strength back and was sure the angel knew it. But Aziraphale wanted something, and whatever it was, he was going to find out.

“I do feel a bit weary,” Crawly lied and pretended not to notice how the angel radiated when his invitation was accepted.

Soon Crawly found himself in a little, modest building, sitting at a table with an angel, drinking the best beer he’d had so far. Their cups never ran out, and nobody else was around at that hour. If someone strayed in, they didn’t even notice the two celestial beings drinking the night away.

The beer was mild, though, and Crawly noticed Aziraphale was drinking slowly. Interesting. Last time they’d gotten properly drunk, and it seemed the angel was trying to avoid it now.

Why? What was he afraid of?  _ Well, _ Crawly thought as he took a swig,  _ that’s a stupid question. Me, _ was the answer, of course. An angel would obviously think it was a bad idea to get wasted with a demon. Crawly couldn’t really blame him. He was there to tempt, he wanted to push, and he assumed Aziraphale would have been more susceptible to it drunk. It was a titillating thought, that the angel had been tempted previously. He hadn’t succumbed, but the fact that he had now invited him here - what did it mean? Aziraphale wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary, either. He was sitting at the other end of the table, talking about the papyri he’d acquired, perfectly friendly and normal.

Surely he hadn’t just wanted to talk? After the last time they’d met, it felt strange to think the angel wanted to spend any time with him at all. If he’d seen through Crawly’s attempts, why would he willingly put himself in this position now? 

As he listened to Aziraphale gush about the things the humans had invented in the world of writing, Crawly decided that it didn’t really matter. This was fine, too. Just talking about humanity, their stupidity and ingenuity, was fine. 

He’d tempt another time. 


	8. Mount Sinai

Aziraphale huddled in the small cave and warmed his cold hands by the little fire he’d managed to coax into existence. The wind was biting and the mountain air merciless. Nighttime Sinai was beautiful, he thought, but so unforgiving.

He sighed to himself. This was but a brief obstacle. He’d climbed far into the mountain already - he was sure he’d find his goal soon enough - and he would persevere. He knew humans could die of the cold and he wondered if the same could be said about angels. He supposed it was possible. His corporation could be hurt and cold was actually kind of painful when one thought about it.

But no - he would not perish here. He was a Principality, and he was on a mission. He would survive, of course.

It’s just that he really missed having a bite to eat, or something to drink, or comfortable pillows to lean into. Cold, hard rock and nothing whatsoever to eat were less than ideal.

He closed his eyes and let out a soothing breath. All for the mission, all for the Plan. He’d eat after.

The night fell in full and the cold seemed to grow stronger.

Crawly hated, absolutely hated, cold weather. He saw no point to it - must have been God’s cruel joke. Or a punishment of some sort.  _ Why yes, let’s have biting winds and temperatures that’ll freeze off your fingers, perfect, lovely.  _ He cursed God and everything She’d ever created as he trudged along the mountainside.

It’s not like he even needed to be climbing mount Sinai. Nobody had told him to. Many a time he thought about just turning back and curling up by a nice fire somewhere. But no, he’d come this far. If he turned back, it would be like giving up.

Besides, Heaven might get an upper hand if he did.

Crawly knew Aziraphale had headed up the mountain a few days ago. Why? Crawly had no idea. The nearby nomads had shrugged and said that a nice man in whites had showed up and asked about directions to ascend the mountain. And off he’d gone, in his plain robes and armed with nothing but a walking stick and a bag.

Crawly didn’t know what had made the angel do something as idiotic as this, but there had to be a good reason. Maybe Heaven knew something Hell didn’t. Maybe there was something worthwhile up the mountain. There had to be.

That’s why Crawly had followed Aziraphale. He had to make sure Heaven wasn’t planning anything too righteous, and if there was a valid reason to send an angel up the mountain, Crawly definitely needed to be there to thwart him. 

That was the only reason.

Obviously.

Crawly grit his teeth as he ascended the mountain. Stupid, stupid mountain. Nothing good could ever come of it. He felt Aziraphale’s scent in the crisp air and kept following it.

He cursed aloud when he’d climbed high enough for there to be snowfall. Great, wonderful. Just what he wanted. He tried to focus on the angel and on his feet, taking one step at a time. But it was getting increasingly difficult. One of the downsides of having an animal form bound so intricately into his being was that snakes were not great with the cold. 

In his human form, Crawly could withstand cold like any regular human. Often better, even. But prolonged exposure to the elements tended to leave him vulnerable. He got sluggish and sleepy, and that was not a good thing to do in these kinds of climates. 

He started to regret his decision to ever go up when night began to fall. It got even colder, and there was snow on the ground now; his light shoes were not built for this at all.

Things were getting a bit hazy. He blinked his eyes furiously and focused on the world. He’d make it through. He wasn’t about to get discorporated in such an embarrassing way - freezing to death by his own stupidity. 

There was light coming from somewhere ahead. For a moment he thought it was the sunrise, but that wasn’t due for hours. 

The wind carried the smell of smoke to him. Fire. He perked up. Fire meant warmth. He picked up his pace and when he smelled familiar vanilla and sunlight, his heart skipped involuntarily.

He really was getting disoriented for the scent to have that kind of an effect on him.

He saw Aziraphale huddled by the fire long before the angel noticed him. He did get the fright of his life when Crawly stumbled into the light, glaring at him with all his might.

“Crawly?!” Aziraphale’s heart jumped into his throat when the demon suddenly appeared from the dark and snow. He looked angry, for whatever reason, and slumped down next to him without asking.

“Just what in Heaven are you up to?” Crawly hissed. “Out for a picnic, are you?”

“What? No!” Aziraphale was confused and surprised, and didn’t quite know how to react to this. “I’m here on a mission.”

“What mission?” the demon huffed, his eyes drooping a little. He looked tired.

“I’m not going to tell you,” he replied. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“On a mission,” Crawly slurred. “To stop your mission.”

“You just asked what I was doing here,” Aziraphale tutted. “So you most definitely are  _ not  _ here to interrupt my mission. Did you follow me?”

“Mnh,” Crawly shrugged. “Gotta thwart, you know how it isss.”

Aziraphale watched the demon. He looked weary and a bit out of it. Could it be…?

“Crawly,” Aziraphale swallowed. “Are you cold?”

“S’very cold,” the demon agreed. “Ssstupid weather. Stupid mountain. Hate sssnow.”

“I suppose a snake demon would prefer warm weather,” Aziraphale joked nervously. “Get closer to the fire, then.”

“Too little,” Crawly grunted.

“Well,” Aziraphale glanced around. There was no more shelter and no way to build the fire bigger. He hadn’t thought to bring a blanket, and he only had his own cloak which was very necessary in warming himself; and anyway, he should not be even thinking about lending it to a demon.

But Crawly was clearly so very cold, and Aziraphale was too kind for his own good. He could not sit there and let anyone freeze to death, not even his wily enemy. He swallowed heavily as the solution presented itself to him, and felt very awkward already. “Well…” he cleared his throat and tried to sound as casual as possible, “better get closer to me, then.” He lifted his fur cloak a bit and could not fathom what had made him offer.

He had expected the demon to scoff and sneer, or maybe begrudgingly cosy up a little bit, but he had not expected to see Crawly slowly turn into a very regular-sized snake and look up at him questioningly. He’d never expected a snake could look questioning.

Aziraphale nodded, and snake-Crawly slithered into his lap and continued onto his shoulders where he set himself between him and his fur cloak. He slipped as close to bare skin as possible and nestled his head in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. 

Aziraphale sat still as a statue for a moment. He’d never had a snake so close to him, and most certainly had never had a demon so close - but when Crawly didn’t appear threatening, he relaxed a bit. He got as close to the fire as he could and tried to ignore how strange the whole situation was.

He felt content, and wasn’t sure why. He assumed it was because he was doing a good deed. If he forgot the fact that he was doing the good deed for a demon, he could almost pretend there was nothing odd about any of this. Just saving a little snake from the cold.

Crawly didn’t want to think too hard about anything. Being a snake was pleasant. The warmth radiating from the angel was beyond anything. He wanted to get closer, as close as possible, press his scales against skin; but sadly, the angel was dressed rather conservatively.

He coiled around his neck and slipped as much of his tail inside the angel’s robes as he could. The warmth was so good, so wonderful. The only thing warmer would probably be jumping straight into the fire, but that would lead into discorporation whereas this… this would only lead to comfort. Crawly wondered if Aziraphale was even aware of how warm he was.

He wasn’t sure if he slept, or hibernated, or just basked in the warmth, but suddenly there was sunlight in his eyes and he raised his head. The fire had died out and the sun was rising. The snowfall had thankfully ceased, as well.

“Good morning,” Aziraphale said nervously and Crawly felt his voice reverberate through his chest. It was pleasant.

Crawly didn’t particularly want to leave the angel’s shoulders but began to realise that the longer he stayed, the stranger it would seem, and he had already been far too clingy for his liking. They were enemies, after all. 

He uncoiled himself and slithered away, regretting the warmth he left behind. The rock was cold under him and he turned back into his human form quickly. Aziraphale looked delightfully shocked at this.

“Right,” the angel said, then. “You really should head down. You’re not dressed for mountain weather.”

“I’m here to thwart you,” Crawly argued, stretching his neck. “So no chance.”

Aziraphale huffed. “All it’ll take is light snow and you’re out of it.  _ You  _ have no chance.”

“Oh, I’ll manage,” Crawly hissed. The angel rolled his eyes and took his walking stick, heading up the mountain without another word. Crawly followed silently.

The weather was considerably warmer than the night before, and it didn’t take long for the light coverage of snow to melt away and become nothing but a bad memory. As the sun climbed higher it got warmer, and soon Crawly was feeling quite alright with the trek up the mountain.

Aziraphale kept talking. At first he berated him for tagging along, saying it was a bad idea and that he couldn’t be thwarted, anyway. After a while the subject got a bit stale, so he began discussing the various dishes he’d had the pleasure of trying. Crawly listened and made a remark or two occasionally. It was oddly relaxing, listening the angel gush about something.

Then, at a sheltered landing with some pitiful shrubberies, Aziraphale stopped. He turned to look at Crawly and his eyes were quite serious. Crawly raised a brow.

“You should leave,” the angel said. 

“Nah,” he replied, crossing his arms. He wasn’t sure what Aziraphale was going to do, but he wouldn’t back down easily.

“Crawly,” there was exasperation in the angel’s voice. “I mean it. I’m here to do a job, and I will do it regardless of whether you’re here or not, but…”

Aziraphale glanced around and sighed.

“I’m going to consecrate this ground, and I really think you shouldn’t be here for it.”

The hairs at the back of Crawly’s neck stood up. It didn’t sound good at all, admittedly.

“What if I stay?” he narrowed his eyes as a challenge. “Consecrated mountain ground, eh? What’s that for? Sounds like this is something I should stop you from doing.”

“You know I can’t tell you,” the angel huffed. “But at some point in the future… maybe in a few decades, maybe a century, this will be a place of importance. A holy place. I need to prepare it.”

Aziraphale looked at him and there was a strange sadness in his eyes.

“Crawly, please,” the angel actually pleaded. “I don’t want to fight you, but this is what I’m here for. If you’re going to interfere, I will need to… to…”

He was at a loss for words, but Crawly understood the meaning. The angel did not want to smite, but would if forced. Crawly was no fool - he knew a Principality possessed power far greater than could be expected from a kindly-looking corporation like his. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to try his luck in battle. Discorporation - for either of them - didn’t really sound appealing, but this was something Hell would like him to stop.

But maybe it was enough to just watch and report back. Tell them he was outnumbered and couldn’t interfere.

“Well,” Crawly drawled. “What if I just observe?”

Aziraphale swallowed. “It might be rather painful for you. I mean… I don’t know. But I would assume.”

“We’ll see,” Crawly shrugged and sat down on a rock by the edge of the landing.

The angel stared at him and clearly wanted to argue, but then gave up and shook his head.

“I’ve warned you,” he sighed. “I don’t know why. But I did. So…” he spread his arms and placed his walking stick against some rocks. He grabbed the bag he’d been carrying and took out a flagon. Crawly had a very bad feeling about it and he watched everything like a hawk.

Aziraphale knelt in the middle of the landing and uncorked the flagon. He met Crawly’s eyes.

“This is holy water,” he said solemnly, and a shiver ran through Crawly. “There will be no splashing involved, and I’ll be careful, but…”

Crawly got up instinctively and retreated. He was not going to risk that. Anything else he was willing to brave, but not this. He went a good distance further and didn’t even bother to feel ashamed about hiding himself behind a boulder. He peered at the angel who took the flagon and poured water on his hand.

It made Crawly grimace. He knew that an angel could probably swim in holy water without any trouble, but seeing the stuff being so liberally just poured on skin was… unsettling.

Aziraphale drew a circle on the ground with the water and continued to draw symbols and rings around it methodically. Crawly squinted at the thing. It looked like a summoning circle, but it wasn’t entirely intact. There were gaps in it, and so it was utterly useless to contain anything.

The angel stood up once he’d finished his drawing - the flagon never seemed to run out. Aziraphale carefully stepped inside the circle and closed his eyes. He joined his hands in a praying motion and a calm seemed to wash over him.

He stood like that for a good while and Crawly was starting to get impatient. Something prickled at the edge of his consciousness and it made him antsy.

Suddenly Crawly noticed that the water on the ground began to shimmer. At first he thought it was just the sun catching on the water, but the stinging holiness of it soon convinced him otherwise. It spread from the angel’s feet, crawling slowly outward. He didn’t want to look at the light - it hurt and made his eyes ache, and he felt generally uncomfortable and trapped. 

Aziraphale just stood there, expression so serene and peaceful that he looked quite unearthly - or maybe that, too, was just the sunlight. If Crawly had been in a more relaxed state of mind, he might have thought the angel beautiful.

Crawly was, however, not relaxed. He wanted to scream at the blasted divinity. The water on the ground glimmered and shone, a cruelly mesmerising thing for something so lethal. His eyes hurt, his whole body felt like it was being pricked with needles, and it made him angry.

With one last look at Aziraphale, Crawly turned on his heels and fled down the mountain until the holiness eased and he could breathe freely once more.

Sinai was something to keep an eye on, but he sure didn’t want to come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sinai, famously, is the mountain where Moses received the Ten Commandments.
> 
> And I did check - it can snow on the mountain sometimes. :D


	9. Ten Plagues of Egypt

Aziraphale felt cold horror constricting his throat as he stood by the Nile, watching the previously glistening flow now running red. The people were confused, alarmed, and scared, and they had every reason to be. 

There was nothing Aziraphale could do. Under the hot sun, the river of blood reeked and stilled, and the animals were suffering.

The Nile did clear up and it was a small relief; what followed were the frogs, endless hordes of frogs. Aziraphale didn’t understand this plague at all - it was certainly awful that you couldn’t take a single step without squishing the poor things, but surely there were worse things than this.

Worse things, of course, followed. The lice were absolutely unbearable. The suffering of the people and the beasts was great, and nothing helped. Often, he merely sat in his house and shut his eyes from the world. He should’ve left - this was not his battle, nor his place; other forces were at play, and he could not do a thing.

The livestock-devouring flies were somehow even worse.

Aziraphale knew Pestilence had passed through the moment he stepped out one morning. The smell of disease swirled in the air and the calls of the sickly animals rang hollow and sad. He walked among them, trying to calm them with his presence and grant relief where he could. He could not heal them - this was Her plan, this was Her doing, this had a purpose, had to have - but he lifted the pain when he could.

When Pestilence cast his sickness on the people, Aziraphale never stopped walking. He went through homes and streets endlessly, tirelessly, easing the pain of those most in need. The boils were painful and unsightly, but not as deadly as they could have been. But when Aziraphale came across a small child, dying of the boils her little body was unable to withstand, his pity and compassion overwhelmed him. Before he knew what he’d done, he’d cast a miracle. Her boils remained, for now, but death would no longer claim her.

He knew he’d gone against Her plan. Panic briefly overtook him and he ran home, shut the doors and windows, and gingerly unfurled his hidden wings. He spread them slowly, examining them from every angle he could. He touched the white feathers and sighed in relief. He had  _ feared…  _ He closed his eyes and took a few steadying breaths. He didn’t know what Falling was like, nor what it would take to Fall. 

He was alright. He thanked Her silently, and promised to follow Her guidance.

Hailstorm and lighting ravaged the land and those unfortunate enough to stray outside never stood a chance. Aziraphale wandered the fields and streets afterwards and knew he should have left Thebes. There was nothing for him here, anymore. He could not help these people, no matter how much he wanted to. They were doomed and it hurt. He didn’t know what held him back. It just didn’t feel right to leave and move on when those who remained would suffer so.

The locusts passed by quickly, but consumed everything on their way.

When the sky turned black and darkness reigned the land, Aziraphale sat alone in his home and waited for it to end. Time crawled. It was the third day. A single candle burned in the room, struggling to stay lit. It barely illuminated the space around it, and nothing cut through the unnatural darkness outside.

A knock on his door woke him from his nothingness. He frowned. Nobody could even see where they were going, how had anyone found their way here? He got up from his seat. If someone was desperate enough to venture out, they were surely in great distress.

Aziraphale opened the door and was greeted by yellow eyes.

“Crawly?”

“Let me in, will you?” the demon grimaced. “I’m tired of the dark.”

Aziraphale stepped aside wordlessly and Crawly strode in. He looked at the candle, pleased, and slumped down on a settee. Aziraphale stared. He realised he’d let a demon in his house, and was getting a bit concerned about it. Although, it seemed like the least of all the troubles of late.

“So,” the demon drawled as Aziraphale took a seat, eyes never leaving him. “The big plan at work here, huh?”

“Quite,” he replied tersely. 

“I’ve been watching this develop,” Crawly lounged on the settee in a very careless fashion. “Lots of bugs. Who up there likes bugs? And the frogs! I tell you, there are folks downstairs who would’ve loved those.”

Aziraphale said nothing. Crawly’s voice was light and conversational, but there was something in his eyes that told him he wasn’t really having fun with this.

“And now the darkness,” the demon stretched his neck. “Not bad. But tedious. Everyone’s just sitting indoors. Though, even if they could go outside, there’s nothing there. Everything’s been destroyed.”

Crawly examined his nails for a moment. “So. What’s next? This is number nine, isn’t it? Seems like the next one should be the last. The grand finale.”

The demon’s eyes were fixed on Aziraphale and he couldn’t meet them. He didn’t want to tell him Her plan - he was on the opposite side. An enemy. But at the same time, Aziraphale’s heart was heavy with the knowledge of what was to come. He wanted to scream it to the world, cry at the cruelty of it, and do something, anything… but he had promised to follow Her. It was Her plan, Her design, and he would risk far greater things than a telling-off if he did too much. And yet...

Crawly’s eyes were hard and expecting, and Aziraphale felt his resolve crumbling. He felt sick to the core and lowered his eyes on his knees.

“After the darkness,” Aziraphale swallowed, “Azrael will pass through the streets.”

He paused, but heard Crawly take a hissing breath. He remembered the name, then. Angel of Death.

“He will…” Aziraphale’s eyes darted around the room, searching for something, anything, to fixate on; they found a serpentine gaze, and it was both a relief and a curse. “Every firstborn son will die.”

Silence washed over them at the words. Aziraphale couldn’t bear looking at Crawly anymore, and lowered his eyes. He fought back tears. It had become so real now that he’d said it out loud, and it ached in his soul. But it was Her plan, it had to serve a higher purpose, it was meant to be…

“Well,” Crawly hummed. “That’s just cruel. What did children ever do to Her?”

Aziraphale shook his head slightly. He wanted to say it was ineffable, that She knew best, that it would be alright. He couldn’t.

“So, that’s final, then, is it?” Crawly asked. “ _ Every single _ firstborn son?”

“I heard the Israelites will be instructed to paint their doors with lamb’s blood,” Aziraphale whispered. “Azrael won’t touch them.”

“Not a lot of lambs left after all these plagues,” Crawly muttered. “Well. That’s a beautifully divine plan if I ever saw one.”

The mockery in his voice was evident and Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut. He did not want to weep, but he had rarely felt this horrible. His heart cried for the children who would lose their lives, for the parents who would lose the greatest treasure in theirs, and for all the innocents who would perish for the pride of a few. Guilt and shame burned him - guilt for revealing this to the enemy, shame for not being able to do anything.

He heard Crawly get up and pace about the room.

“You know,” the demon hummed. “It’s good that I came. It’s good that I squeezed the truth out of you with my wily ways. Oh, what a victory for Hell! What a chance to do some proper thwarting.”

Aziraphale looked at him in dismay. Crawly had done nothing, he’d just asked, and he had-

“You should leave,” the demon said, hands casually behind his back. “No matter what, this is gonna be a dreary place in a few days. Get out of Egypt, there’s nothing here for you anymore.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, desperate to say something even though he had no idea what. Maybe he wanted to plead to Her, maybe to Crawly, but his heart ached.

“As for me,” the demon smirked. “I’ve got some lambs to slaughter and properties to vandalise.”

“W-what?” was all Aziraphale could manage. Did Crawly really mean that he was going to…

“If you leave by morning, nobody can blame you for anything,” Crawly shrugged and went to the door. “Seriously. Go. I’m about to thwart the Hell out of this holy massacre, and there’s nothing you can do.” With a smile, the demon disappeared into the darkness.

Aziraphale was shaking all over. Crawly was going to… he was going to save them. As many as he could. It was against Her plan, but that was his whole job. It was a twisted thing - he’d go against Good in order to do good.

In another time, Aziraphale would have drawn a few conclusions of the nature of the whole thing by this, but in the darkness of midday, he could only smile in relief.


	10. A Celebration in Palmyra

Palmyra was buzzing with excitement and preparation; a battle was won, so therefore it was time to celebrate. A feast of wondrous proportions was about to begin. The sun was already setting, and the whole city seemed to be in good spirits.

Crawly was not in such good spirits. A feast of this proportion - or rather, several feasts throughout the city - was a prime opportunity to wreak some havoc. It should have been good fun.

It’s just that the company wasn’t the greatest.

“Right, what’s the plan?” Hastur’s black eyes scanned the city as the demons looked down on it from a rooftop. Ligur was glued to his side, as usual.

“Go, defile, and don’t embarrass yourselves,” Crawly scoffed. Hastur gave him a dirty look.

“Speak for yourself.”

“I’ve done this for a long time,” Crawly replied venomously, “whereas you bottom feeders look like a couple of clay statues come to life. At least try to appear human!”

“Watch it, snake-eyes,” Ligur growled.

“Urgh, whatever,” Crawly groaned. “Right, I’ll take the East side. North for Hastur, West for you, Ligur.”

“What about South?”

“We’ll wing it,” Crawly huffed. “Alright, better get on with it. Meet me here before dawn - and I don’t want to see you any sooner.”

“Likewise,” Hastur sneered. 

“Who put him in charge,” Crawly heard Ligur muttering as the two left their rooftop perch.

He sighed in relief. Why had Beelzebub assigned him to babysit those two?  _ They need more experience with humans, _ had been the argument, and Crawly had been against it vehemently. If Hastur and Ligur needed to learn the ropes, Crawly was perfectly fine with them doing so - just far, far away from him. He didn’t want frog-man and lizard-boy messing his thing.

Well, it wasn’t all bad. They’d cover different sides of the city, and Crawly had purposefully taken the best part. The one with the best feasts and most interesting people. 

Crawly tried to enjoy himself. He went around, causing petty squabbles and a few divorces on his way. He released all of the sheep from their enclosures when nobody was watching; the animals didn’t go far, in the end, in their confusion, but they would be a pain to recapture by a bunch of hung-over partygoers. He had a drink or a few, but couldn’t really let go and get roaringly drunk; he still had to keep a vague eye on the other two, and considering how much he claimed he’d accomplished up here, it was best to maintain a facade.

He had almost forgotten about Hastur and Ligur when the scent of sunlight drifted into his consciousness over the smell of fire and alcohol. What was Aziraphale doing here? Where was he?

Crawly focused on the scent and let his feet carry him. Please be on the South side, please be… no. North. _ Fuck. _ Hastur’s side.

Instead of trying to locate the angel in the crowd, Crawly did his best to find Hastur. It wasn’t too difficult - the idiot still looked like a statue. Crawly briefly wondered if he was missing ligaments or joints to be so stiff - maybe that was his personal Hell - but then headed over. 

Hastur hadn’t been completely useless. Crawly saw how he influenced a young boy to steal for the first time, paving way for future crimes. A bit low to target children, Crawly thought, but whatever. He needed to get Hastur out of the way.

“Doing well, are we?” he drawled as he slinked by the demon’s side.

“Surprised?” Hastur snided. “It’s not so hard.”

“Tempting isn’t the hard part,” Crawly huffed. “Appearing normal enough to not raise suspicion is.”

He glanced around. The people near them were giving Hastur weird looks.

“Are you even trying to blend in?”

Hastur didn’t deign to reply.

“Anyway,” Crawly went on. “Go check the South side of the city.”

“Why?”

“Because nobody else is,” Crawly rolled his eyes. The scent of clear skies tingled at the back of his mind, and he needed Hastur  _ gone _ . “Beelz put me in charge, so when I tell you to go, you go.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” Hastur stepped closer and tried to look menacing - a difficult task when his frog chose that very moment to catch an errant fly. He really needed to work on his human disguise. “I outrank you. They might think you’re all the rage Downstairs, but I don’t think you’ve ever-” he fell silent and looked around, sniffing.  _ Oh, no… _

“I smell something divine,” Hastur grimaced. “Angels? Here?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Crawly scoffed and crossed his arms to hide his nervous fidgeting. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Then you’re even more useless than I thought,” Hastur huffed. “There’s an angel here.”

Crawly cursed to himself. “Right, oh! Oh yeah, I smell it now. Go get Ligur, we’ll get to the bottom of this, that’s for sure.”

Hastur narrowed his eyes at him.

“Hurry up!” Crawly shooed him. “I’ll track it down in the meantime. Don’t make me tell Beelz that you blew our chances at beating an angel because you didn’t want to share with your boyfriend.”

The snarl Hastur gave him was something ugly, but he turned on his heels and headed for the West side.

Crawly watched him go long enough to make sure he actually left, and then headed straight for that familiar scent. It didn’t take him long to find Aziraphale, it never did, and when he found him he didn’t waste time.

“Hello Aziraphale,” he greeted and grabbed the angel’s arm, pulling him along and away from the crowd. “How’s it going? Good? Good. Great party. What a night! Listen, it would be fun to chat, but I think you should be on your way, now.”

“Crawly?” the angel looked more bewildered than ever. “What in Heaven’s name…”

“Don’t ask,” Crawly groaned.  _ Please don’t ask why, either - I don’t have an answer. _ “Look, I was thinking, I probably owe you from… from that time in Egypt. When I almost got discorporated. Right, so, I owe you, what a horrible thing! So I’m warning you now, nasty demons afoot tonight. Get out of here. There, debt paid! Bye!”

He almost shoved the angel towards the Northern gate.

“Crawly, I’m not leaving!” the angel said with frumpy conviction. “I’m here to work.”

“You’re here to feast.”

“The two are not mutually exclusive.”

“Argh,” Crawly hissed through gritted teeth. “Listen, you obtuse idiot. There are demons here, and they’re after you now, and I can’t-” he took a moment to rethink his words, “I’m not  _ going  _ to stop them. Got it? So if you know what’s good for you, you get out of here, or hide, or… something.”

Aziraphale watched him with a strange look in his eyes.

“You paid any debt you had during the plagues,” he said quietly, and Crawly could have screamed.

“That was nothing but demonic interruption of God’s work,” Crawly growled at him and didn’t care that the look in his eyes made the angel step back. “So don’t get the wrong idea. I’m telling you, for the last time - leave this place!”

The angel looked at him and Crawly already knew he wasn’t going to. 

“I’m staying,” Aziraphale said. “But I won’t be caught. Don’t worry.”

“I do  _ not  _ worry-” Crawly began, but the angel was already disappearing into the crowd, thankfully away from where Hastur had been earlier. He growled in frustration at the angel’s retreating back and hastily returned to where he’d left Hastur.

It didn’t take long for Hastur to return with Ligur in tow.

“Where’s the angel?” Ligur asked eagerly, glancing around.

“Headed South,” Crawly lied. Aziraphale’s scent had become fainter. “Get a move on, maggots.”

Crawly headed southward and the others followed him blindly. He figured that as long as he looked like he knew exactly where he was going, the idiots would buy it.

Why he was bothering at all was a whole other question. He’d given the angel a warning and that was already more than enough. Way more. Come to think of it, he shouldn’t warn any angel at all, anyway.

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid,  _ was the mantra in his head. He was risking a lot for an angel who was meant to be his enemy. Who  _ was  _ his enemy. He felt marginally better when he realised that the reason he was doing it was because it was  _ his  _ job to tempt Aziraphale, and Hastur and Ligur were only going to ruin his efforts.

Yes. The angel was his turf, and he wasn’t about to let anyone else get the glory for hurting or tempting him. Especially not these two. He’d done all the work, and only he would reap the benefits. He would never manage to tempt the angel if he got attacked by other demons - that would throw Crawly’s whole millennia-long scheme off the rails.

What followed was a chase around Palmyra which would have been hilarious if the stakes hadn’t been so high. Crawly led Hastur and Ligur on a wild goose chase, and Aziraphale proved to be remarkably good at hiding himself when he knew he was being hunted. Often Hastur or Ligur caught his scent in the air and followed it, only to discover the angel was long gone by the time they got there.

Crawly didn’t actually know how the angel was able to hide so well. Even he, who had lots of experience following Aziraphale’s scent, had trouble placing him. He couldn’t become a snake like Crawly, and he couldn’t trick demons into thinking he wasn’t present. Crawly thought that if he was allowed to focus, he could pinpoint the angel exactly. But when he didn’t have time to focus, the scent seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once.

“We’re wasting time,” Crawly noted after hours of this pointless dance. “This is no way to get results! Just forget about the blasted angel and get back to work. Probably gone already and just playing us. It’s almost dawn anyway.”

Hastur and Ligur grumbled, but were frustrated enough to not complain about giving up and be happy about doing evil once more. They disappeared into the crowd to cause some mayhem. Crawly took the opportunity and closed his eyes. He focused on the scent of sunlight and felt it coming from the South, after all. He held onto the trail and followed it.

He hurried through the streets and past people, and hoped that Aziraphale would stay still for long enough. He arrived at a rather distant part of the city, at a house that was dark and empty, its inhabitants out feasting.

The door opened for him in a miracle. “Aziraphale?” he whispered into the darkened room.

“Hello,” the angel’s voice greeted him from another room, and soon he was standing there with him. Crawly thought he was glowing subtly in the dark, but it might have been his imagination.

“You know, if you’re trying to hide, you shouldn’t come when called,” Crawly raised a brow at the angel.

“I didn’t sense your… friends,” Aziraphale shrugged. 

A part of Crawly wanted to remind him that he was a demon, too, and that no angel should assume to be safe with him. But he didn’t, of course, because he liked that Aziraphale trusted him. Well, trusted he wouldn’t attack him, anyway.

“How did you hide from them?” Crawly had to ask. “It was very hard to track you.”

“I don’t know if I should tell the enemy how I avoided them,” the angel narrowed his eyes playfully with a little, wicked smile playing on his lips, and Crawly had a sudden urge to grab him, shove him against the wall, and kiss that smug smile away.

He shook himself marginally to perish the thought. He forced his posture calm and crossed his arms. 

“Oh, alright,” Aziraphale beamed, crumbling easily under Crawly’s stare. He was obviously proud of himself and desperate to share. “Well, I’ve assumed for a long time now that demons can sense angels in the same kind of way that we can sense demons. I may never have been good at it - the world is so full of sensations, after all - but I knew I could throw you off. I just gave people very strong, yet brief, blessings.”

“You what?”

“I blessed people,” Aziraphale radiated giddiness. “The blessings were so strong they would give a momentary divine aura to the people. And they just… went about their business.”

So that’s why Aziraphale’s presence had felt like it was coming from every direction - it literally was. But that also meant that…

“Are you saying you sent three dangerous demons after innocent people?”

The angel’s face fell. “Oh, no, of course not. You- you were looking for me, weren’t you? The blessings faded quickly, and anyway if you found one of them, you’d know it wasn’t an angel at all, so…”

Aziraphale frowned and lowered his eyes on his hands, fidgeting with that golden ring of his. Crawly knew he should’ve felt good about the angel’s discomfort - after all, what he’d done could be twisted into a very bad, selfish, and endangering thing - but somehow he just wanted to see that radiant smile again. He’d not seen it often since that first time in Eden.

“Ah, no reason to mope about it,” Crawly huffed. “You’re right - we were looking for you. The others didn’t even know what you looked like, but not once did we come across a human and mistake them for an angel.”

Aziraphale raised his bright eyes on him. They were again so uncertain and vulnerable that Crawly had no clue how to deal with anything. He was a demon, an angel should not look to him for consolation, nor should he give it, but...

“You basically screwed demons over by doing good for the people,” Crawly smiled ruefully. “Unbelievable.”

Crawly couldn’t stand the way the angel’s eyes revealed absolutely everything he was feeling. The subtle shift from worry and shame to hope and redemption was so obvious he wanted to scream. Instead, he looked around the room.

“This breaking and entering, though?” he drawled, giving the angel a sideways glance. “Unforgivable.”

For a brief moment, Aziraphale looked mortified, but then he pursed his lips and rolled his eyes.

“I hardly broke into anything. The door was open.”

“Oh, miraculously unlocked, was it?”

“Rather,” the angel said primly and went outside, hands clasped behind his back. Crawly followed.

“What incredible luck.”

“Truly.”

Crawly couldn’t help but grin at Aziraphale, and to his endless joy, the angel grinned back.

“Listen, just lay low for a few more hours, hm?” Crawly said. “The others will be gone by dawn.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“This feast has been a bit… bland,” Crawly hummed, then. “I’ve had to babysit, and then chase you around pointlessly… want to have a few drinks at daybreak?”

Aziraphale raised his brows at him, looked away, hesitated. Crawly watched him and waited. Too forward? Too much? They’d gotten drunk together before, in Thebes. Neither had invited the other, that time - it had just organically happened. Was it too much to ask directly? But then again that other time, Aziraphale had invited him for beer. If Crawly was honest, he was kind of looking forward to sharing stories. It had been a while since he’d seen the angel, and the last time he had painted a few doors red with blood - there hadn’t really been time for pleasantries, then.

“Well,” Aziraphale breathed. “I suppose a drink or two wouldn’t hurt.”

When Hastur and Ligur had slunk back to Hell, and Crawly had found a few pitchers of wine, they sat on the highest rooftop and watched the sun rise. Crawly was eager to laugh about his demon companions and how poorly Hastur had blended in. Aziraphale had much to say about the food and drink at the various feasts.

They spent a good amount of time drinking and laughing, and afterwards Crawly couldn’t remember them talking about anything specific. He just remembered having fun and departing with the angel with a mutual, drunken smile given in a bit too close proximity.

Palmyra was amazing, Crawly decided.


	11. Memphis, Egypt

Aziraphale stumbled in the dark. He vaguely registered that the moon was up, but the light didn’t seem to reach his eyes. The world was blurry and unfocused, his head hazy and his eyes clouded. Where was he?

He took a few more shaking steps forwards before falling down. His feet felt wrong. His legs couldn’t carry him. The sand under his hands felt warm but distant. He shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. What was happening?

Memories were jumbled in his head and he couldn’t remember what exactly had happened, or in which order. He remembered drinks and following a distressed woman, and he remembered pain and blood. Physical pain? Mental pain? Empathy for someone else’s pain? He didn’t know. 

He realised there was a foreign substance in his body, something that shouldn’t be there. He had learned to purge alcohol from his blood long ago, but hadn’t experimented with other mind-altering or mind-hindering substances; he didn’t know how to get it out, he wasn’t sure where it was in him. With time, he could’ve done it, but in his current state he couldn’t focus. He was afraid and lost, and he _could not focus._

He got on his feet shakily and swayed in his spot. His eyes were heavy and his thoughts sluggish. He knew he needed to run - he didn’t know why, or from what, but he knew he needed to escape. He tried looking around, but the world twisted in his eyes. All he could see was darkness and vague shapes of things that might have been trees or rocks, maybe buildings, but his eyes couldn’t fixate on anything.

He couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing in his corporation. It was horrible. There were no distinctive smells, either - no sea, no flowers… a vague smell of brimstone, perhaps…?

Somebody grabbed his arm violently and he tried to resist. 

“Told you not to run,” a gruff voice growled next to him. “Told you I’d make it painless if you didn’t. Had to play the hero, didn’t you?”

Aziraphale tried to struggle, tried to tell the man to let go; but his limbs wouldn’t obey and his tongue would not form words. The painful grip on his arm tightened as the man began pulling him away. Panic overwhelmed him but his feeble resistance was no match for his captor. Images of young women and blood haunted his scrambled memories.

“Oi!” rang a voice in the air. It seemed to echo in Aziraphale’s ears and it felt familiar, somehow. “What are you up to?”

The voice came closer. The hold on his arm was bruising.

“Just getting my friend here home,” the rough voice replied and tugged him closer. “He had a bit too much to drink.” A chuckle with no joy behind it.

_No, no, no,_ Aziraphale thought desperately. The words wouldn’t come out. He tried to focus his eyes on the other presence with them, he could smell brimstone and it felt familiar, it was… Crawly?

“Yeah, somehow I doubt that,” Crawly clicked his tongue. “You better let him go.”

“Mind your own damned business!” the man spat.

“I am,” was the scathing reply. _“Let._ _Go.”_

Aziraphale felt the iron grip still on his arm, but then there was a hand on his other arm, firm and insistent.

“Listen, you pest,” the gruff voice growled. “You better get the hell away-”

Aziraphale felt a horrible darkness encircling him and it made him cower; the painful hold on his other arm was suddenly gone. He heard hurried footfalls retreating, and all that remained was the firm hold on his other arm and the inexplicable terror that had settled on him. It faded, slowly, but when Aziraphale managed to look up and saw yellow snake-eyes staring at him so very close, he couldn’t help but flinch and attempt to run.

“Come on, Aziraphale,” Crawly muttered, holding his arm and stopping his feeble escape. “It’s only me. I won’t hurt you. Promise.”

If he had wanted to argue, he couldn’t have. He was still as weak as before, his corporation as sluggish and unresponsive as ever. Crawly began pulling him away and Aziraphale could vaguely register there was an arm around him for support. He tried his best to walk, but his feet felt uncoordinated and numb.

“What happened to you,” Crawly muttered next to him. He tried to reply but no words came; and anyway, he didn’t even have an answer.

Suddenly there was something soft under him and he realised he was laying on his back. A ceiling above him? Where were the stars? The world was still spinning and blurry.

“Sleep it off,” Crawly’s commanding voice rang from somewhere nearby. “I don’t know what drugs you’re on, but you have to sleep.”

_I don’t sleep,_ he wanted to say, and it was the last thing he remembered.

Crawly sat in the little room for the whole night and stared at the angel. Aziraphale had seemingly passed out and was lying very still on the bed in the house Crawly had “borrowed” for the time being. There was a nasty bruise on his cheek which Crawly discreetly miracled away. What in Heaven had the angel been doing? What had he taken? And why? Aziraphale didn’t seem like someone who’d meddle with drugs. And who had that big oaf been?

Crawly had smelled Aziraphale the moment he’d left a small establishment of questionable reputation he’d taken a liking to. Curious to see what the angel was doing in Memphis, Crawly had followed the scent. When he’d found Aziraphale at the very edge of the city, drugged out of his mind, being dragged away by a large man, he’d had no choice but to interfere.

Obviously. If anyone was going to harass the angel, it was going to be him and not some mortal brute.

The man had fled the moment Crawly had let some of his demonic energy bleed out into the air; he might have even turned a bit snake-like in the process, he wasn’t sure. Crawly was beyond curious to hear what the angel had to say about it all. He’d gone and gotten himself mixed up in something dangerous, that was for sure.

The sun had climbed quite high when Aziraphale stirred. Crawly watched him place a shaking hand on his face with a groan and a frown.

“Rise and shine,” Crawly crooned.

“Mh,” was the angel’s hoarse reply.

“Seriously. You’re well enough to get the remainders out of your system,” Crawly hummed. “... aren’t you?”

Aziraphale didn’t reply, but placed both his hands on his chest and let out a long breath. His brows were creased but soon his frown eased and the wrinkles of pain on his face smoothed.

He sighed and blinked his eyes open. He took in the room until his eyes found Crawly.

Crawly waved at him. “Rough night?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale huffed and sat up gingerly. He put his feet firmly on the floor and gripped the edge of the bed tight with his palms as if to ground himself. “I really don’t know.”

“So,” Crawly drawled. “Care to tell me what happened?”

Aziraphale eyed him warily, but then he sighed resignedly. 

“I don’t quite remember,” he swallowed. “But it’s coming back to me. I was having dinner. I met a woman, and she… she seemed distressed. She sat with me and told me about her problems, I think. That I remember. That’s when things start to get a bit muddled.”

“She put something in your drink,” Crawly stated as if it was obvious. The angel’s eyes widened and Crawly was sure he was going to defend her, but instead…

“You’re right,” Aziraphale gasped. “She dropped something and I turned to pick it up, and after that…” he shook his head. “I followed her outside and she led me to a house, I don’t know where. I remember there being women… young women and men, tied… bloodied.”

He raised his eyes on Crawly and they were full of anguish. “So much pain. From that point on I can’t quite recall… I do remember consoling them and trying to free them.”

Crawly gave him a moment to gather himself before urging him on.

“Who was the man?”

“I don’t know,” the angel replied. “When he arrived I wasn’t quite well. He argued with the woman. Peseshet, I remember him calling her by that name. He hit her, and I think… I think I tried to defend her.”

“Didn’t work out, then.”

“Not really,” Aziraphale sighed. “I was in no condition to do anything. The man took her away and left me there. I managed to escape but I have no idea how…”

“A true miracle. And then you ran?”

Aziraphale nodded with a frown. “I think so. I can’t remember. It’s all a blur from that point on.”

The angel looked quite distressed. It was probably a very novel thing for him to not remember, or to be under the influence of something he couldn’t immediately shake off. Crawly had no idea what possessed him to do it, but soon he found himself sitting on the bed next to the angel. He looked as surprised as Crawly felt as he nudged the angel with his shoulder. He’d thought it as a comforting gesture. Maybe it was - at least it was a distracting gesture if nothing else. He sat too close, almost shoulder to shoulder, but didn’t move.

“I’m thinking lotus,” Crawly said and met his eyes. Bright blue. So close. Too close. Not close _enough._

“What?”

“Lotus. What she put in your drink. Probably mixed with something else.”

“Oh,” the angel watched him closely. “You have experience with…?”

“Hey, I gotta know the sins to tempt people into them,” Crawly shrugged. “Lotus has that kind of a… relaxing effect. But you were so out of it that there had to be something else with it.”

Aziraphale nodded thoughtfully. He stared at his toes and bit his lip, and Crawly knew there was a question coming. 

“I can’t remember last night very well,” the angel confessed quietly. 

“No wonder,” Crawly snorted. “I’ve never seen you so out of it.”

“Well, it was hardly my fault!” Aziraphale huffed.

“You have to work on purging substances from your corporation,” Crawly shook his head in mock disappointment. “Which means you need to start ingesting some. For practise.”

“No thank you!”

“Ah, you know it’s the only way,” Crawly grinned. He was enjoying how his teasing made the angel so frumpy. “How else are you going to learn? We’ll do it in a controlled environment.”

“Excuse me, _we?_ ”

“I can hook you up with stuff. I’ll stay to look after you, don’t worry.” Crawly actually dared a wink, which made Aziraphale’s eyes widen.

“I wouldn’t call the company of a demon a _controlled environment..._ ”

“Why not? It would be an environment, and it would be controlled. By me.”

“As if I would let you…”

“Sometimes it’s good to let someone have a bit of control over you,” Crawly said in a low voice and grinned. Aziraphale glanced at Crawly quickly and there was a subtle red tint on his cheeks. Crawly was mesmerized without wanting to be.

“No thank you,” the angel huffed, looking away. “Also, I… I don’t remember how I ended up here.”

“Well, I took you here,” Crawly replied casually but never let his gaze drop from the angel.

“I gathered that much,” Aziraphale fidgeted nervously. “I hope I didn’t do anything weird or say anything strange. Anything… untoward. Not that _you_ would mind, I’m sure...”

Crawly felt a wicked smirk forming on his lips. He knew the angel had probably been afraid of saying something silly, like _‘Heaven is boring,’_ or perhaps, _‘Michael is a twat,’_ but Crawly wasn’t about to miss this opportunity.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he grinned. “You didn’t try to seduce me or anything.”

“That’s- that’s not what I meant!” Aziraphale looked absolutely scandalised and Crawly relished it.

“But trust me, if you had tried to,” Crawly bit his lip, still smirking, “you would have woken up in the bed _with_ me.”

Aziraphale looked horrified, turned red, and got up from the bed at once, escaping to the other side of the room. Crawly watched him pace and avoid looking his way. Too forward? Too much? The angel muttered something about vile demons and looked genuinely upset.

Suddenly Crawly had a sinking feeling that his little tease could be taken in a very wrong way, and Aziraphale had of course taken it that way. Crawly would never have taken advantage of any person who barely knew where he was - there was no fun in that, no victory, only selfish gain, regret, and shame. But, of course, his joke had made it seem like he would have - or _could have_ \- done whatever he liked.

“I’m only joking,” Crawly said casually, trying to fix the situation. He did his best to hide the desperation behind his words.

Aziraphale eyed him suspiciously. 

“Nothing happened,” Crawly continued. “You passed out and woke up ten hours later.”

After a moment of more suspicious staring, the angel shook his head. “I need to leave.”

“N- but- fine,” Crawly crossed his arms and tried so very hard to pretend it was indeed fine. 

“There are people doing very bad things to other people, and I can’t have that,” Aziraphale straightened his clothes and prepared to go.

“What are you going to do?” Crawly asked quickly. He didn’t want the angel to leave, suddenly. As long as he kept talking, he wouldn’t go.

“I’m going to stop them,” Aziraphale scoffed as if it was a stupid question.

Crawly raised a brow. “How? You don’t even know where they took you. And if you do find them, then what? Going to start killing?”

The angel had been on his way out, but stopped at his words. Crawly could see the uncomfortable reality setting in.

“I’ll find a peaceful way,” he replied tersely and began heading out again.

“They don’t deserve one,” Crawly called after him and the angel halted in his steps once more. “You know they don’t.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” Aziraphale spoke quietly and the soft words struck Crawly somewhere deep. “If I just talked to them, they might repent and mend their ways.”

“So,” Crawly swallowed. “No matter what horrors they’ve committed, no matter how evil they are,” he watched the angel, hand on the door, eyes downcast, “if they just repent, it’ll be alright? They’re forgiven?”

Aziraphale glanced at him. His eyes were uncertain and Crawly bit back his bitterness.

“Could you really forgive someone who has sinned so much?”

The angel averted his eyes once more. “It’s not my place to pass judgement,” he mumbled. “All I can do is guide them and do my best. The final judgement is up to Her.”

Crawly laughed bitterly. “They’re ours already, then.”

“I don’t care what you think about this,” Aziraphale exclaimed suddenly and Crawly was quite taken aback by the sudden vehemence and fire in his eyes. “You only want to claim them for Hell, you-”

“And how is that different from what you want to do?” Crawly hissed back. “We have the same agenda. It’s just that I dare to ask questions.”

“That has nothing to do with this!” Aziraphale groaned. “This is about saving them, and the people they might target. I… I need to help them, all of them.”

They stared at one another for a moment.

“Fine,” Crawly said then. “I’ll come with you.”

“What? No-”

“Shut up,” he scoffed. “I don’t believe for a second that you can make them repent. And when you can’t, they’ll hurt-” he cleared his throat and caught his tongue just in time. “They’ll be up for grabs. So to speak.”

“Absolutely not…”

“I’ll be a tiny snake on your shoulders, nobody will notice,” Crawly pressed on. “They’re more likely to approach you if you’re on your own. You know, cutting off loose ends and all that. I’ll only interfere if you can’t sway them. Promise.”

Aziraphale hovered by the door. Crawly stared at him and tried to will him to agree for reasons he wasn’t sure of himself. He didn’t know what made the angel sigh and nod, but he wasted no time in shapeshifting. He was oddly pleased when Aziraphale knelt down and picked him up, placing him on his shoulders. Crawly coiled on him as discreetly as possible and the angel hid him under his light cloak.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Aziraphale mumbled as they left the house.

_You and me both,_ Crawly thought.

They spent the entire day in the same tavern where Aziraphale remembered meeting the woman. Crawly was warm and comfortable, instantly reminded of the time on Mount Sinai. He could get used to this.

He banished the thought at once. Overall, he tried not to think too hard about his motivations right now. Sitting so close to the angel before and teasing him had put thoughts in his head, and he was more keen than ever to proceed with his grand plan of seduction. It was a shame the situation didn’t really suit it. So, he settled to laying there quietly, occasionally _accidentally_ brushing his head or tail against the angel’s neck.

When night fell and the patrons were getting rowdier, Aziraphale perked up. His eyes were fixed on the door and Crawly peeked out of his shelter. He saw a woman enter and look around carefully. She was middle-aged and rather beautiful. Her dark eyes fell on the angel and widened in shock; she turned on her heels and hurried out.

Aziraphale was up and after her with surprising agility. He followed her into the night and down deserted alleys. 

“Peseshet!” he called as she turned a corner. Crawly heard the gentle command in his voice and knew there was a bit of divine meddling happening. It was no surprise to him to see the woman waiting for them as they turned the corner after her.

She was trembling and as Aziraphale approached, she huddled closer to the wall. Crawly tasted her fear in the air. He let out a quiet hiss of laughter - if there was one person on this Earth she needn’t have feared, it was Aziraphale.

“Please,” she gasped. “I’ll do anything you say, please…”

“Hush, my dear,” Aziraphale said and Crawly heard the gentle smile in his voice. “I mean you no harm.”

Crawly shifted uncomfortably as a little divine miracle prickled in the air. The woman relaxed marginally, but still eyed him warily.

“I want to help you,” Aziraphale murmured. He kept a careful distance away from her and held her in place with his soothing presence alone. “Please. Tell me how I can help you.”

Peseshet let out a shaking breath and clutched at her throat nervously. “I… I want to be free.”

“Free from what, my dear?”

“Of him,” she sobbed. “Of Ahmes.”

“I’ll help you,” Aziraphale promised. “Take me to him.”

Her eyes widened in shock and surprise.

“You are a good woman, Peseshet,” Aziraphale spoke softly. “I can see that.”

“I never wanted to hurt anyone,” she choked. “But he’s my husband. He has urges… so I bring him young women… young men…”

“Why did you bring me?”

_That’s a good question,_ Crawly thought. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what kind of urges dear Ahmes had, but Aziraphale didn’t seem to fit the type of preferred victim.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I was drawn to you. He didn’t like that I brought you.”

Peseshet lowered her eyes.

“Must have been fate, then,” Aziraphale smiled. She looked up at him and her eyes shone with hope. Crawly would’ve rolled his eyes had he been in another form.

“You have my forgiveness,” the angel said and hovered his hand by her face. Crawly felt the blessing covering her. “Show me to him, and I promise you will never have to worry about him again.”

Peseshet nodded with teary eyes and a thankful smile on her lips, and Crawly knew she was Heaven’s, if Heaven had even a lick of sense in them. Well, no matter. Ahmes would probably have a home in Hell. Didn’t seem like the repenting type, based on all this. As kind and forgiving as Aziraphale could be, he couldn’t just make anyone repent by command - the person needed to be already willing, and Peseshet clearly regretted her part in all this.

She led them to the very edge of town and Crawly recognised the area. It was near where he’d found Aziraphale last night. She stopped by a derelict house.

“He might not be in right now,” Peseshet whispered. “But he’ll come…”

The fear in her voice was obvious. Aziraphale touched her shoulder lightly.

“Go,” he said. “He won’t bother you again. Make a good life for yourself and don’t look back.”

There was a vacant look in her eyes for a brief moment and Crawly knew she would not remember Aziraphale, come morning. Peseshet bowed and left.

“Alright,” the angel let out a breath as he turned to the door. “Better go say hi.”

They entered the house. It was dark but there were signs of life: clothes, cups and bowls, the scent of spices. There were two doors leading into other rooms and the angel glanced between them.

Crawly smelled blood and suffering and nudged Aziraphale towards the left door.

It led downstairs to a basement.

Behind yet another door they found a terrible dungeon.

“Oh,” Aziraphale gasped as they took in the scene. A few men and women, bound and gagged, lying on the floor or chained to the wall. They were all young, beaten and terrified. There was a blood-covered table in the middle of the room with a selection of nasty tools. Crawly was more than familiar with torture equipment - Hell had either come up with or adopted most of them - and he knew exactly what they were for.

Once he’d recovered from his initial shock, Aziraphale dashed to the nearest woman and unbound her. The moment her gag was off she began sobbing aloud. The angel blessed her quickly and she was mostly soothed; he discreetly healed the worst of her ails.

“Quickly, my dear,” he spoke to her quietly. “Help me free the others and we’ll get out of here.”

She moved as if in a trance and together they freed the rest. Aziraphale miracled their wounds away without them even noticing. They were almost done when they heard movement from upstairs. The victims all cowered and some of them wept in panic. Aziraphale had barely managed to free the last victim when the door flung open.

Soon enough Ahmes stood in the doorway, tall, muscular, and imposing. His eyes scanned the room and his lips curled in a snarl.

“You,” he growled at the angel. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

“Helping,” was Aziraphale’s courageous answer. If he was afraid, he didn’t let it show. “Let these people go. Please.”

Ahmes laughed. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you still have a chance to save yourself,” the angel replied. “You can still save your soul. Let them go, and never hurt another being again-”

“What is this nonsense?” Ahmes scoffed. “You return here, unarmed, and think you can just talk your way out?” He drew himself to his full height, which was impressive indeed.

“You can be forgiven,” Aziraphale tried. His voice was kind and soothing, but it did not have the same effect on Ahmes as it had had on Peseshet. “All you need to do is let them-”

“Quiet!” the man exclaimed. He took out a curved sword and Aziraphale and the humans instinctively drew back. He bolted the door with one hand and locked it, eyes never leaving the room. “This ends now. Surrender, or die.”

“Let them go,” Aziraphale repeated. “If you let them go, I will stay willingly.”

“What makes you think you’re worth anything to me?” Ahmes narrowed his eyes, but Crawly heard in his tone that he was considering it.

The angel replied easily: “You want to see me suffer. More than you want to see them suffer.”

_Well done,_ Crawly thought. _That’s exactly it._ Ahmes hated the angel - the one who had escaped, one who had returned and come to free his victims. Crawly had met many killers in his time and most of them held grudges like nobody in the world. It was always personal.

A cruel smile spread on Ahmes’s lips. “You do understand I will draw out your death longer than you’d think was possible?”

Crawly felt a shiver go through Aziraphale’s body, and suddenly he had an unreasonable urge to sink his fangs into Ahmes’s eyeball.

“Just let them go,” the angel replied.

“I think not,” Ahmes growled with a wicked smile. Crawly wasn’t surprised. As much as Ahmes hated Aziraphale, he didn’t see him as a threat. The angel was unarmed and didn’t appear dangerous whatsoever. Aziraphale had nothing to bargain with or threaten him with. Well, nothing Ahmes knew about.

Ahmes grabbed the nearest woman and held her tightly with one muscular arm, the curve of his blade on her throat. She sobbed in terror and every time she moved even the slightest bit, the blade pressed tighter against her. 

“On your knees,” the man commanded Aziraphale, “or she dies.”

Crawly cursed to himself. Ahmes had correctly guessed Aziraphale’s weak spot and was using it against him. He was not going to let anyone go, and was determined to keep Aziraphale, as well.

Aziraphale stared and Crawly could almost feel his heart breaking for the terrified woman. He did as he was told, keeping his eyes firmly on Ahmes. Crawly hated the man more than he had thought he would.

“You,” Ahmes turned to one poor, shivering man. “Tie his hands or you’re dead.”

The man glanced at both Ahmes and Aziraphale, eyes wide with fear, and took a piece of rope from the table.

“Hold out your hands,” Ahmes commanded Aziraphale. Again the angel obeyed, and the man tied his wrists with shaking hands. Crawly was getting irritated. Something had to be done but Aziraphale was just going along with it. The woman in Ahmes’s hold still whimpered and Crawly was sure the sound of her suffering hurt the angel deeply.

“You, back off. All of you!” Ahmes directed his command to the victims who obeyed without question. They were all young, weak, and afraid, and Crawly doubted that they could best Ahmes even if they dared to try. Ahmes approached Aziraphale while the others shivered in fear. The angel remained remarkably calm.

“I barely know where to begin,” Ahmes grinned wolfishly as he loomed over the angel, “but I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”

“I ask you again,” Aziraphale said calmly even as Ahmes pulled him up roughly and tied his bound hands to the wall, “to repent. To save your immortal soul. Please. It’s not too late.”

_It is too late,_ Crawly thought. _And if you’re not going to do anything, I will. How far are you going to let this bastard go?_

“Shut up,” Ahmes spat and struck the angel on the cheek sharply. Anger roiled in Crawly and as Ahmes tore away Aziraphale’s cloak, he wasted no time. He saw the surprised look in the man’s eyes as he noticed a snake on the angel’s shoulders, but barely had time to register the situation before Crawly had already bitten his hand.

Ahmes roared in pain and backed away. Crawly slithered off of Aziraphale and turned back into his human form, immediately snapping his fingers and freezing the room in time.

It was a bizarre scene. Ahmes was frozen there, clutching his hand with a grimace on his face. The victims were stuck in various stages of shock and surprise. Aziraphale looked around, bewildered.

“What did you just do?” he gasped even as Crawly waved his hand and the angel was released from his bonds.

“Bought us some time, is what.”

“Did you… stop time?”

“Only in this room. Listen, we could remove ourselves from this situation, but we can’t move them, alright?” he motioned towards the humans. “So, we need a plan, and it better be quick.”

“This is an incredibly useful power to have,” Aziraphale breathed, staring at Crawly in awe.

“Yeah, I know, thank you,” Crawly hissed. “It’s not something I can maintain forever, alright? So what’s the plan?”

Aziraphale seemed to snap out of his reverie. He looked at the humans and frowned. 

“Right, well, I need to unlock the door, for starters,” the angel said and grabbed the key to the lock from where Ahmes had placed it. He quickly unlocked and unbolted the door, cracking it open. He returned his gaze on Crawly.

“There is no way to explain this to the humans,” the angel shook his head. “Not without a bit of miracling…”

“You take care of that, and them,” Crawly nodded towards the young victims as he circled around Ahmes disdainfully. “When I unfreeze the moment, you need to be quick. Ahmes will be out of commission soon enough, but he’s still dangerous. Get their attention immediately and take them out. Do what you need to cover your tracks.”

“What are you going to do?” Aziraphale eyed both Ahmes and him warily. Still concerned for even the lowest of the humans.

“What you could never do,” Crawly replied darkly. “You had your chance. Peseshet is yours, but this one is ours.”

Crawly watched as the realisation hit the angel. His eyes widened and his lips parted in shock.

“You’re-”

“Go. He’s ours, and he’ll meet his eternity soon enough.” Crawly didn’t particularly like claiming a soul, but he was no stranger to it. This one, at least, would feel somewhat justified. Not that he as a demon should care, either way. He picked up a sword by a wall and resumed his position in front of Ahmes.

“I’m going to unfreeze them in a moment,” he said to the angel. “When I do, it’ll be chaos for the humans. Get them out as soon as possible. Understand?”

Aziraphale said nothing, but nodded grimly. Crawly nodded back.

“Three, two, one…”

He snapped his fingers and the room was immediately filled with sounds which seemed strangely loud after the lull. Ahmes growled and groaned, the victims gasped and screamed. Aziraphale was with them instantly and began corralling them towards the door even as Ahmes recovered enough to begin fumbling for his own sword; his hand was already swelling and turning black from demonic venom. 

The victims were soon gone but the angel hovered by the door hesitantly.

“They need you,” Crawly reminded him. “There’s nothing for you to do here, now. I’ll handle him. Go.” 

The angel opened his mouth to say something, but Crawly shoved him out unceremoniously and shut the door behind him. He sensed Aziraphale lingered by the door for a little while before his scent faded and he was gone. 

Ahmes was angry, but Crawly felt his fear. It didn’t take long before a fresh soul was sent down to Hell.

Crawly emerged from the house not long after and found Aziraphale sending the last of the victims on their way. He noticed the humans looking much better than a moment ago - all their wounds were healed and there was a vacant look in their eyes which was a tell-tale sign of some divine mind-altering; none of them would remember the events of tonight, and he wondered what the angel had replaced the memories with.

Aziraphale’s eyes met his and there was a strange look in them. Crawly walked up to him and handed him the cloak he’d left behind.

“Oh,” the angel blinked at the cloth, “thank you.”

Crawly shrugged. Aziraphale frowned at him, eyes somewhere on his cheek.

“You’re bleeding.”

“What?” Crawly frowned back. He was pretty sure he hadn’t been hurt at all. He wiped his cheek and found blood. “Oh, not mine.” He miracled it away.

The angel looked mildly disturbed. “So… Ahmes is…?”

“Where he belongs.”

Aziraphale nodded thoughtfully and lowered his eyes. Crawly watched him. It had been an eventful 24 hours or so. He felt that the moment of departure had come, but he didn’t really want to part ways just yet.

“Drinks?” he suggested. Aziraphale looked at him dubiously. “We’ve earned it. My treat.”

A smile ghosted on the angel’s lips. He let out a heavy breath. “One drink. Lead the way.”

Crawly tried to fight back his own smile and sauntered onwards, the angel by his side.


	12. Damascus

The desert had never felt so deserted. Aziraphale let out a long-suffering sigh as he trudged through the sand. The day was cloudy and dark, turning into dusk. There was a stillness about the world which promised thunder. The air sure felt more humid than usual.

Aziraphale had been sure he’d find nothing in this nook of the desert - nothing except a clay house long since abandoned. But now, as he drew nearer, he began to feel the echo of something dark emanating from the desolate building. Maybe Head Office had been right to send him to scout it.

He shuddered briefly as he entered the cool shadows of the old building and shuddered again as he saw a black, curved dagger lying in the middle of the sand-ridden floor. He frowned and glanced around, but there was nothing or no one else in the house. Just sand, shadows, and emptiness.

Aziraphale knelt by the dagger and knew at once that he had been sent here for a reason. The weapon looked ordinary, but something in its sleekness and absolute flawlessness worried him. It radiated darkness.

He miracled a white cloth and used it to take the dagger in his hand. A shiver ran through him as his fingers felt the cool hilt under the thin linen. He examined it briefly - not a scratch or a stain - and hurriedly hid it in the ether.

Aziraphale got up and blessed the little house. He could breathe easier instantly but wasted no time exiting the place and leaving it for good. He returned to Damascus and to the little room he was staying in. He knew he should’ve gone back Upstairs straight away to dispose of the dagger, but he’d rather been looking forward to a feast planned for the evening by his neighbours, and he had  _ just  _ been up there.

Quite honestly, Aziraphale couldn’t bear the thought of going back up so soon and facing all those…  _ looks. _ The other angels thought his clothes were strange, them preferring their Eden-era robes still. He had a feeling they’d begun to gossip and laugh behind his back about the way he dressed, and behaved, and dealt with humanity.

Maybe it was just his imagination. That’s what he wanted to believe, anyway. He was doing important work, helping humanity and thwarting evil, surely they knew this and appreciated his efforts. It was merely his own insecurity making him doubt. He prayed to Her silently, asking for forgiveness for his thoughts.

Still, he would wait a bit longer before going back. No harm there.

The feast wasn’t as good as he’d hoped. There was nothing wrong, really, the mood just wasn’t right.  _ His  _ mood. The others were having a wonderful time, and even though Aziraphale joined in on every story, song, or bout of laughter, his heart wasn’t in it. 

He tried to focus on his scrolls and writing. The day was lovely, everything was fine. Yet his mind wandered, and he had no real interest in copying the words of one scroll into one of his own. There was a heaviness weighing on him and he didn’t know why.

Aziraphale thought about visiting Heaven but the idea made him bristle. He couldn’t handle Sandalphon’s smarmy smile. He had no clue why he always, without flaw, ran into Sandalphon whenever he visited. He didn’t want to see him. What harm was a few more weeks enjoying Damascus?

The sun was too hot on his skin. The shade too cold. The sand under his feet irritated him, and the constant neediness of the humans around him was frustrating. He tried to help them, but nothing seemed to work out. He solved one issue, and another came up - it’s as if he’d forgotten the laws of cause and effect and was running blind.

He thought he might as well do nothing, then. 

Aziraphale wandered the hills nearby. He had just needed to get away from it all. But even here, surrounded by nature, he could not feel at peace. There was a constant frown on his face and no matter what he did, it wouldn’t fade. Something weighed on his very soul and he couldn’t figure out what it was. Maybe it was guilt for avoiding Heaven? No - he wasn’t  _ avoiding  _ Heaven. He was just postponing a visit.

“Having a little walk, are we?” a drawling voice called to him and made Aziraphale jolt. He turned and saw Crawly’s dark form leaning against a tree. His yellow eyes watched his every move from the shade of the tree, and Aziraphale felt… hunted.

“Oh, it’s you,” he pursed his lips. Crawly’s brows shot up before he could stop himself.

“Me, indeed,” the demon hummed. “What are you doing out here?”

“None of your business.”

“Ooh, testy,” Crawly tutted. Aziraphale scowled at him.

“What are  _ you  _ doing here?” he asked in turn, suspicious.

“You’re my adversary,” the demon narrowed his eyes and approached slowly. “I need to know where you are.”

“Are you  _ following me? _ ” Outrage was bubbling inside Aziraphale. How dared this demon stalk him?

“What’s going on with you?” Crawly’s eyes never left him and he began to circle Aziraphale like a shark would circle its prey. Aziraphale turned in his place, not willing to turn his back on the enemy.

“I’m being stalked by a demon, that’s what’s going on,” Aziraphale retorted none too kindly. 

“No,” Crawly hummed, eyeing him from head to toe, nostrils flaring. “No, there’s something else. What have you done?”

“Nothing!” Aziraphale exclaimed.  _ How dare he? _ “And even if I had done something, why would I ever tell  _ you?” _

“Because you’ve gone and done something stupid,” Crawly scoffed. “And I know you don’t-”

“Oh, trust the demon to know everything!” Aziraphale fumed. Crawly stopped moving, staring back in surprise. “How dare you expect me to tell you  _ anything? _ What I do is my own business, and you have no part in it. You don’t know me!”

Aziraphale hadn’t even noticed he’d balled his fists. Something dark and fiery burned on his consciousness and he was suddenly afraid. Concealing this with wrath felt so… right.

“You’re hiding something,” Crawly whispered, eyes narrow slits of pure yellow, scanning him relentlessly. “You smell… wrong.”

Aziraphale stared. He was terrified, and so angry. Something was trying to tear apart his consciousness and he couldn’t handle it.

“Stop,” he hushed angrily at the demon.

“Stop what?” Crawly frowned and stepped closer. “I know you’re hiding something. Something you shouldn’t have. Hand it over.” He extended his open palm expectantly, demandingly. Aziraphale took a hasty step back.

“Go away!”

“No,” Crawly’s gaze was trying to see into his soul, Aziraphale thought. “Hand over whatever it is that you’re hiding.”

“I will never give anything to a demon!”

Crawly’s eyes flashed and his lips curled in a snarl, and then he attacked.

The demon tackled Aziraphale to the ground and all he could do was fight back. It was a rough tumble which neither got the edge on, but it was fierce, and it was real. Heaven and Hell as they should be, pitted against each other, to the bitter end.

Aziraphale clenched his teeth as he tried to prevent Crawly from grabbing his wrists and pinning him down. The yellow demonic eyes burning over him tried to awaken ancient memories, far older than anyone could comprehend, and he knew he had to protect himself, save himself, do something…

Almost without realising, he summoned the dark dagger from the ether and it was now between them, pointed up at Crawly whose fingers were gripping Aziraphale’s armed wrist like a vice.

Aziraphale stopped moving. Both of them froze and Crawly’s eyes darted to the dagger, then again to him, and Aziraphale didn’t know what to do. All fight seemed to leave him and he could only watch the demon looming on top of him with wide eyes.

Slowly, Crawly took the dagger from his hands and got up, hastily backing away from him. Aziraphale remained there, back against the sand, eyes on the sky.

“Why would you  _ ever, _ ” he heard the demon’s voice, but couldn’t look his way, “keep this on you?  _ Idiot. _ ”

Aziraphale swallowed. He didn’t want to move. The world seemed better now, somehow. The weight on his soul was gone. He blinked up at the sky.

“Absolute idiot,” Crawly went on. “Do you have any idea what this is? No, of course not, because you don’t have a lick of sense in you.”

Aziraphale kept staring at the sky. He could hear Crawly’s feet shuffling against the sand, pacing. He didn’t want to move. He felt numb, yet light and free. But he couldn’t put into thoughts what had just happened.

“What possible reason would you have for keeping this? No, wait, I don’t want to know. It’s going to be moronic, and my brain will implode at the idiocy.”

Aziraphale heard the demon’s steps halt. 

“Get up, will you?”

“I’m quite comfortable here,” he replied weakly. He didn’t want to face Crawly. Couldn’t bear to look at him and admit that he had been right. The demon cursed under his breath.

“The Heaven you are,” Crawly muttered and came closer. He stood over Aziraphale and the angel couldn’t avoid him anymore. He looked up at the demon, his form casting a dark shadow over him and shielding him from the sun. Yellow eyes unreadable.

“Get up,” he grunted and held out a hand. Aziraphale stared at him, at his hand, and hesitated. The demon didn’t back down, so Aziraphale put his hand into Crawly’s and let himself be pulled up. Crawly let go the moment he was standing on his own two feet again, and resumed his pacing.

Aziraphale watched him. He was holding the dagger and it glinted dangerously in the sun. He closed his eyes - whatever had possessed him to hold on to that thing for so long? He wasn’t even sure how many days had passed since he’d found it. And just now he had been prepared to plunge it right into…

He opened his eyes again and saw Crawly watching him.

“Do you know,” the demon said, waving the dagger casually, “that this here could seriously hurt you?”

“Obviously, it’s a dagger.”

Crawly laughed bitterly. “No. Not just that. This thing is imbued with demonic power. This could  _ hurt  _ you.”

Aziraphale gasped in shock when Crawly held up his own palm and cut it with the dagger, expression unwavering. He watched in horror as the fresh wound on the demon’s hand knit together almost instantly.

“See?” Crawly said with a clenched jaw. “I didn’t miracle that away. This dagger can’t hurt me. But you?” He sucked his teeth as he eyed him. “Cut you with this, and you’ll have a hard time miracling that wound away. Oh, I’m sure it will heal, eventually… but this is made to  _ really  _ hurt anything remotely holy.”

Crawly shook his hand and flexed his fingers. Aziraphale’s eyes were glued on the dagger.

“You kept this on you, you idiot,” the demon shook his head. “You carried around a demonic artefact. No wonder you were so sour.” He hid the dagger away in a quick miracle.

“I was just,” Aziraphale swallowed. “I meant to take it to Head Office.”

“Yeah, well, too late,” Crawly scoffed. “I won it in battle, didn’t I? I’m taking it Downstairs with me.”

“That wasn’t a battle,” Aziraphale huffed, looking away. He could feel the demon’s grin on him.

“Felt like one,” Crawly chuckled. “You just don’t want to admit it because you lost.”

Aziraphale looked at him indignantly, but the smile on the demon’s face deflated his desire to argue. He huffed in what might have been interpreted as a laugh and sat down on a warm rock.

“You put up a good fight,” Crawly hummed, looking down at him with his arms crossed.

“Ha, ha.”

“No, really,” the demon grinned. “If you hadn’t stopped at the last moment I’d have had that dagger in my gut. Not that it would’ve hurt me, but still.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Aziraphale eyed him wearily, “I had no way of winning, either way?”

Crawly actually barked in laughter. “Kind of, yes.” His mirth mellowed into something Aziraphale couldn’t quite read. “But really. Had that been any other weapon, and had you not hesitated… you’d have won.”

“I don’t know if I should be glad about that,” Aziraphale lowered his eyes. He had never killed, and had no desire to - even if he was fighting the enemy.

“Ehh,” Crawly shrugged. “That would be a feather on your wing. Discorporating me. Makes for a good report.”

Aziraphale groaned. “What am I going to tell them?” He ran a hand through his hair. “I lost the dagger, I lost the fight… I’ve got nothing worthwhile to report.”

“What do you mean?” Crawly scoffed. “You found a dagger, a wily demon attacked you for it, you stabbed him during the fight for your life, and he narrowly managed to escape.”

“That’s not what-”

“It’s all about how you present it!” Crawly spread his arms. “Technically, all those things happened.”

“I didn’t stab you.”

“Almost did! And I  _ did  _ cut myself with it, so that’s close enough. It’s fine. I always embellish my reports.”

“You’re a  _ demon,  _ of course you do.”

Aziraphale didn’t miss the roll of those yellow eyes. 

“Just present the facts in a favourable way,” the demon instructed.

Aziraphale wasn’t too sure about it, especially since taking advice from a demon seemed exactly like the kind of thing he really shouldn’t do. Then a new thought brought a crease between his brows.

“And why exactly do  _ you  _ care?”

He faced the demon fully and Crawly was taken aback. His mouth hung open, his eyes were wide, and he took an instinctive step back.

“Well- it’s- I don’t… you… it’s bec-” he frowned back at him and turned his eyes away grumpily. “Because out of all the angels I’ve met, you’re the least infuriating. That’s not saying much and you are still  _ extremely  _ infuriating, but I’d rather deal with your nonsense than… than Uriel’s.”

“You’ve met Uriel?”

“I know of Uriel,” Crawly muttered evasively. “That’s beside the point.”

“Well,” Aziraphale looked at the demon. He had no idea what to say. He thought there was an insult hidden in there, somewhere - Crawly would rather deal with him because he was soft, or incompetent, or not as fearsome as someone like Uriel. It didn’t feel like an insult, however, no matter how begrudgingly the demon had said it. 

“Anyway,” Crawly cleared his throat. “Got to get going. Lots of tempting to do, you know how it is. And I do have to take this thing away before some idiot angel gets his pretty hands on it.” When the demon’s eyes fell on him again, Aziraphale thought he saw a strange hunger in them. It made him shiver, but not out of fear.

Suddenly, Crawly stooped down by him and murmured into his ear, “I’ll see you around.”

His breath burned against Aziraphale’s skin, but before he had time to realise what had happened, the demon was already disappearing into the scenery. He touched his ear and let out a careful gasp of confusion, surprise… and something unnamed.

Aziraphale did present a slightly altered version of the events in his report, and it was received quite well.

He swore he’d never do it again, but couldn’t help but feel a bit victorious.


	13. Athens, Greece

Athens was such a relief after spending so long in tiny villages, travelling through nothing and interacting with farmers and goats for weeks and weeks on end. Crawly inhaled the scent of the city and sighed happily. He had always thrived in big cities, ever since Babel. So many souls to tempt, so many opportunities, so much to do. 

He hadn’t been to Greece in a long, long time. It had certainly changed, and for the better, if he was asked. 

He loitered about the agora and observed the people. It didn’t take him long to pick out potential targets in the crowd: those who were already displeased, or those who had power but didn’t use it, and generally those who were constantly teetering on the edge of sin. One push and they’d be gone.

Crawly didn’t have a particular goal for Athens. Hell was pleased with his recent mission in Anatolia, so he had a bit of a free reign for now. He’d decided to change the scenery and see what the Mediterranean was all about. He liked it, so far. He’d just do whatever he wanted to, and if what he wanted happened to coincide with what Hell wanted, that would just be a lucky coincidence.

He almost could not believe his luck when the familiar scent of sunlight and vanilla drifted into his consciousness. He began scanning the crowd for that fluffy white hair and it didn’t take him long to spot it. 

Crawly hung back for a bit and observed. Aziraphale was shining in the hot afternoon sun, clad in his luxurious white himation draped over his chiton, sunlight in his hair and on his face, looking every bit like the angel he was. The fashion of the era seemed to suit him perfectly. He was standing there with a basket full of fruit, talking with a young woman. 

She looked like a slave, but the angel treated her like she was anyone. The expression on his face was kind and polite, and although Crawly couldn’t hear what he was saying, the woman hung on to his every word. 

She was young, very young, and even from a distance Crawly could tell by her body language and expression that she was utterly, completely, desperately in love with Aziraphale. The angel seemed to have no idea, or pretended not to.

Crawly shook his head in amusement. The angel must have known. There was no way he was so dense that he didn’t. He was an angel, a being of love - surely he’d have no trouble figuring out this girl would’ve done anything for him. It was painfully obvious even for a demon to see, and Crawly could only sense the more carnal urges she had. But it didn’t take a celestial being to know - he was sure the whole agora would know if they looked.

He wasn’t sure why, but he was pleased to see Aziraphale showed her nothing but polite, very platonic kindness. She bat her lashes at him and giggled at his stupid (Crawly assumed) jokes, but he behaved the same as if she’d been the merchant he’d just bought the fruit from.  _ Good. _

Crawly decided it was time to interrupt this charade. The girl would get nowhere and Crawly was in the mood for some tempting. Aziraphale looked happy and content, and the warm weather and amicable surroundings were prime basis for suggestive conversations. A memory of wrestling with the angel under bright Damascan sun and whispering in his ear woke a familiar hunger in him. Crawly had a good feeling about Athens.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted brightly as he sneaked into their presence, taking both of them by surprise. Crawly thought he’d never get tired of that nervous flutter the angel always did when he managed to surprise him.

“Crawly,” Aziraphale gulped, but when he smiled, his smile was genuine. Those eyes so bright. “I didn’t know you were in Athens.”

“Just arrived,” Crawly replied and looked at the woman. She seemed disappointed to be robbed of the angel’s full attention, and wary of the new stranger. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Aziraphale looked from the girl to him, a bit baffled. “Yes, of course. Crawly, this is Artemisia. Artemisia, Crawly.”

The woman bowed respectfully. She was obviously questioning the strange name, but didn’t dare to ask.

“Have you known each other for long?” he had to press on.

“Only a few weeks,” Aziraphale smiled, and Artemisia looked at him adoringly with her big, dark eyes. Crawly raised a brow and the angel glanced between him and her.

“I should let you get back to your chores, my dear,” Aziraphale said to her. The forlorn look on her face was so obvious, but she said her goodbyes with respect before picking up a large vase by her feet and disappearing into the crowd.

“A few weeks, eh?” Crawly grinned as Artemisia had gone. “You’ve made quite an impression on her in such a short time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on,” Crawly scoffed. “She’s so in love with you it doesn’t take a genius to notice.”

“Oh,” was what the angel said before lowering his eyes. “Yes, well… it’s very sweet of her. I should never discourage love, but…”

“You don’t want to be the target of it?”

“Well, it could never work, obviously,” Aziraphale huffed. “The mere idea…! She’s but a child, and I’m… not even human.”

Crawly couldn’t help but notice the angel wasn’t saying what he’d thought was the obvious first argument against the idea: the lack of reciprocation. 

“So,” he began slowly, “you’re saying that if you  _ were  _ human you might-”

Aziraphale made a scandalised noise, looked at him with wide eyes, and began slowly walking away. Crawly followed.

“I’m not human,” the angel pursed his lips. “The scenario is impossible.”

“Are you saying you love her and the only thing holding you back is your blasted holiness?”

“Of course I love her,” the angel said softly, and Crawly’s insides ran ice cold before the angel continued: “I love all of them. I’m here for them, to protect them, and I love them very much.”

Crawly did his best to conceal the relieved sigh he couldn’t contain.

“But I don’t really have an interest to… to…” the angel searched for words, scanning the crowd with his eyes. “Well, I don’t want to give them the wrong idea. I can’t give the poor girl what she wants.”

Aziraphale’s smile was sad. “I met her when I helped the family who owns her. I saw such kindness and intelligence in her that I couldn’t help but try to assist her, too. Artemisia really is rather special, and if she were born under different circumstances…” he sighed. “If she were a queen, she could accomplish so much good in the world.”

“But a slave girl can’t.”

“She can still do good,” the angel retorted. “Just… not on the same scale. It’s a pity. I’ve been trying to think of a way to get her out of this situation, but so far…”

Aziraphale shrugged heavily. Crawly watched him and supposed the easiest way to get a woman out of slavery and to a better life in this time and age would be for someone rich to fall for her and whisk her away. Artemisia was already aware of the idea, with the way she’d been looking at the angel. 

But of course, Aziraphale could never tempt, say, a young man from a rich family to disobey his parents and run off with a slave. It wasn’t a very angelic thing to do.

It was borderline demonic, if anything. Crawly made a mental note of it for later.

“I’ve had a long day,” Crawly said after a moment of silence. “What would you say to some wine?”

Before long, they were sitting in the shade of cypress trees, the agora behind them with its hustle and bustle. Aziraphale had placed the fruit basket before them and was happily eating grapes. Crawly had miracled them wine and cups and it was a perfectly pleasant way to spend his first day in Athens.

They traded news of the world, for a start. Crawly learned Aziraphale had spent quite some time in Greece and the Mediterranean in general, and said how much he enjoyed this era. Crawly told him about his travels in the East and towards the North, and they both vaguely alluded to their work. Neither really wanted to reveal any grand plans, and Crawly didn’t really care, anyway - whatever Heaven would come up with, he would try his best to inconvenience. 

It quickly turned into Aziraphale telling Crawly of all the wonderful wines he had had the pleasure of tasting, and how interesting the food here was. Crawly had never had any difficulties appreciating alcohol, so he didn’t mind, and hearing the angel gush about such things only made him feel encouraged. Aziraphale had truly embraced food and drink, so there was a good chance he’d be willing to embrace other things, too.

“So,” Crawly drawled, sipping his wine. “You got a place of your own in Athens?”

“I do,” Aziraphale nodded. “I have a very nice house, if I may say so myself. Easy to keep an eye on things, if…”

“... if you have a nice house with a great kitchen?” Crawly grinned. The angel looked a bit flustered at this.

“One must blend in.”

“I think you blend in well,” Crawly commented, eyeing him up and down. “You look every bit like a rich man - but not  _ too  _ rich, of course. How many rooms have you got?”

“Just… just a few,” Aziraphale admitted, looking rather conflicted.

“Any slaves?”

Aziraphale sighed. “I’ve thought about that,” he hummed. “I don’t have any. I don’t really entertain, you see, so nobody thinks it odd if I have none. I don’t need them, after all. And the whole idea is...” he shifted uncomfortably.

“Have you thought of buying Artemisia?” Crawly asked, staring at the angel intently.

“I think that would be a very bad idea,” he replied. “I suppose it would be a step closer to her freedom, but… what would she think if I suddenly did that? She might get the wrong idea.”

“Oh, I’m sure she would,” Crawly chuckled and emptied his cup. He poured himself some more wine. He was feeling pleasantly fuzzy with all the alcohol, and could tell by the flush on the angel’s cheeks that he’d had plenty to drink, as well. “I can already imagine it… her gazing at you adoringly around every corner, trying to seduce you with those pretty eyes…”

Aziraphale made a strange noise and shook his head. “I could never live with a human,” he huffed. “To think, I’d have to pretend to… to sleep, and all that.”

“Oh, the horror,” Crawly laughed.

“I suppose I will have to make Artemisia forget about me,” the angel smiled sadly. “She’s such good company, but I can’t… I can’t be her friend when I can’t give her what she wants. It’s downright cruel to her.”

Crawly watched him. Something in his words struck him deep, but he didn’t stop to analyse it further. He was tipsy, Aziraphale was right there, the sun was warm, and the conversation was in the right area.

“Humans are fleeting,” Crawly drawled. “She’ll be alright. Even if you suddenly left, she’d get over it. Humans are like that… they move on.”

“As must we,” the angel hummed. “I’ve known so many good people during these millennia. Some who I have called friends. It’s bittersweet to know them, when their existence on Earth is so fleeting.”

Crawly thought the conversation was getting a bit too solemn for his liking, and for his purposes.

“I bet humans fall in love with you all the time,” he smirked. The angel looked at him with wide eyes. “Don’t look like you don’t know! You have that- that aura around you. They trust you, and they like you, and if you make the mistake of calling them  _ dear _ , they’re done for.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Aziraphale muttered, but his voice lacked conviction. Crawly chuckled.

“You know it is. And how many of them have tried to make a pass at you?”

The sputter from the angel delighted Crawly. He mumbled something incomprehensible.

“Have you ever… succumbed?” Crawly had to ask, though he already knew the answer. Or he hoped he did - if the angel now revealed that yes, actually, he’d spent many a happy night in a human’s bed, Crawly might just torch the whole of Athens down right then and there.

“Of course not!” Aziraphale replied indignantly. “That would be- well, that would be horrible to them!”

“I’m sure they would disagree,” Crawly bit his lip and grinned. The angel didn’t know where to look, so he drank some more. 

They drank in silence for a moment. Crawly watched the rays of the setting sun give the angel a golden glow, and saw how he deftly licked a drop of wine from his lips. Crawly swallowed. He watched, and he wanted. He had tried to tempt for so long, and he knew he’d been somewhat successful; and it would be a great victory for Hell if Crawly could be the one to lick the wine off his lips, to suck the breath from his lungs, and show him what humans truly desired. But more than that, he wanted this for himself. He didn’t know what it was about this angel, but he was desperately attracted to him. Crawly had experienced many a human in his time, had tempted them and discarded them, and while it had been fun, none of them could compare.

“To think,” Crawly leaned his chin on his hand and directed his gaze on the angel, “here we are, sitting on uncomfortable ground, when you could be showing me your nice, empty house.”

“Oh, indeed?” Aziraphale tutted and raised his brows. “I think there’s a rule somewhere about not letting demons across one’s threshold.”

“I’ve been across your threshold,” Crawly retorted languidly. “Many times. Nobody’s ever come asking questions.” Aziraphale inclined his head in agreement. The numbing tingle of the wine, the sun on his skin, and the angel’s presence felt intoxicating. “And anyway, I might even bring you a gift.”

“What would your gift be?” Aziraphale asked, scoffing, but clearly curious. “A swarm of snakes?” 

Crawly smirked.

“I can’t multiply myself, no matter how much you’d want me to.”

Aziraphale turned red and averted his eyes.

“I might bring you something to eat,” Crawly went on. “A juicy apple, perhaps. That would be fitting.”

“Oh, too on the nose, that,” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Pause. “Though, I do rather like apples.”

How poignantly sinful to like such a fruit.

“I would very much like to see your house,” Crawly leaned forward again, pouring the angel more wine. “I’m curious. Does it have the same… divine feel to it as you?”

“It would probably make your skin boil,” Aziraphale mumbled into his cup.

“Nah,” Crawly smiled slowly. “It never has, has it? Does it smell like you, I wonder?”

“Excuse me?” the angel’s eyes were wide, but oh, so intrigued.

“Ah, don’t look so scandalised,” Crawly grinned. “I quite like the way you smell.”

“That’s not something a demon should say to an angel,” Aziraphale huffed, trying to keep himself composed. “But I… I know what you mean. You also have a… smell about you.”

“Oh?” and Crawly edged closer. He was slightly afraid of what the angel would say next - comment on the disgusting odor of evil, perhaps? If he smelled unpleasant to the angel, his whole plan might crumble.

Crawly was far closer than necessary, his bare arm almost brushing against Aziraphale’s, and the angel shivered just the slightest bit.

“And what do I smell like, to you?”

“It’s…” Aziraphale swallowed and met his eyes - so close - before glancing away. “It’s hard to describe. It’s oddly subtle. Brimstone, I think… and earth. Smoke. But also… wood burning in a hearth. Spices… apples. It’s very…  _ you _ .”

Crawly remained where he was, staring at the angel with languid eyes, drinking him in. The description had brought a strange heat to his chest. Aziraphale tried to avoid his gaze, but his eyes kept darting back to his and away again, as if afraid to look too closely.

“So,” the angel cleared his throat. “What kind of a smell do I… if it’s not unpleasant to you… then what…?”

The smile on Crawly’s lips widened slowly and his fingers ran circles on the rim of his cup.

“I’ll tell you,” he hummed. “If I can visit you.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” the angel breathed, his eyes now fully on him. 

“Good ideas are rarely the ones that make the best memories,” he murmured back, wetting his lips. He saw Aziraphale gulp. The taste of temptation was hanging heavily in the air, it was between them, and Crawly held his breath.

“Well, it would be… rude,” the angel said, his voice husky, and it was  _ maddening _ , “not to invite you. You’ve travelled a long way, after all.”

“I have,” Crawly sighed, eyes flitting between the angel’s lips and eyes. “All I really want is a roof over my head, good company… a soft bed, perhaps.” He leaned a bit closer, still not touching, but close enough for the angel to feel the ghost of his breath on his ear. “Take me home with you.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly, his gaze trapped by Crawly’s as he pulled back a bit. The words had been laden with such meaning and intent that the angel couldn’t have missed it. Crawly saw the desire, and the fear, in the angel’s eyes, and he knew he’d succeeded.

He’d actually succeeded. Aziraphale had succumbed, had said yes, and they got up wordlessly. As the angel led him along the streets of Athens, Crawly didn’t dare to say a thing for fear of breaking the spell.

He had succeeded. It was finally the moment he’d been waiting for. His moment of triumph, his greatest victory.

_ I did it, _ he thought gleefully, his heart pounding in excitement. He could barely wait to pull the angel in his arms and steal that first kiss, fall into a bed with him, couldn’t wait to caress, consume, and claim. 

_ I wonder if he will gasp. I wonder if he’ll moan. He must, he seems the type. He will gasp, and moan, and surrender, and maybe even beg, and he will… _

_ … he will regret it after. He will break, and he won’t look at me anymore. He will flee, and avoid me, and I won’t see him again. Maybe he’ll confess it all to Heaven, and be cast out, and he won’t be the same anymore. He won’t be all sunlight and clear skies, no more soft edges and bright eyes.  _

_ It will destroy him. I will destroy him. It will be a victory for Hell. _

Crawly faltered in his steps as they approached Aziraphale’s home. His mouth was dry and his heart felt shrivelled. He glanced at the angel by his side; he was clearly nervous and anxious, but he  _ wanted _ .

Why didn’t this feel good anymore? Why had his greatest victory turned to ash? This is what he had wanted for the longest time. He had spent so long tempting, and he’d planned for this very moment so many times. In the dark of the night, when he was alone, he’d thought about this. He’d imagined having the angel to himself, what it would be like, what he’d do. How it would feel.

Now, Crawly didn’t want this. Not like this. He didn’t want this victory if it meant never seeing the angel again. He knew that if he took this step, it would be over. Aziraphale would never look at him the same again, if he looked at him at all. It would all be over. There would be nobody to seek out in the centuries to come, no one who would say his name in that breathy, surprised gasp.

Heaven might send another in his place, but they would not be the same. Nobody could ever be the same.

“Well,” Aziraphale smiled shakily as they arrived at his door. “Here it is.”

“It’s fancy,” Crawly managed to say. The angel opened the door and the look in his eyes hurt Crawly in so many ways.

“Would you like to come in?”

The promise behind those words ached. Crawly so desperately wanted this, had wanted it for so long, but now that he could have it all, the victory tasted bitter.

“Nh,” he grimaced, trying to act casual. “On second thought, it might be a bit too divine a place for me, after all.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were so confused, so disappointed and hurt, that Crawly could barely deal with it.

“I think you’ve lived there too long with your… holiness bleeding into the walls,” Crawly lied. “Best if I find somewhere else to go.” He stepped away and the distance chilled him. 

“Oh,” the angel smiled, but it was strained, it wasn’t genuine. “Of course. Well… good night, then. I’ll see you later?”

“Sure,” Crawly called, already retreating. “See you around.”

And he hurried away, disappearing into the shadows. He didn’t even register where he was going, he just needed to go  _ somewhere. _ He didn’t want to think about why he’d decided against the plan, because he knew, deep down, that this wasn’t just about lust and temptation anymore. He didn’t want to admit that he couldn’t have cared less about winning anything for Hell. Didn’t want to admit that the angel had become too important for him to just use and discard. Didn’t want to admit he would follow Aziraphale to the ends of the Earth and beyond if he so much as hinted at it.

Crawly left Athens in the early hours of dawn and didn’t return.

And if the rich son of Artemisia’s neighbour suddenly had an urge to find himself an intelligent, dark-eyed wife, and if Aziraphale found a bright red apple on his doorstep the following morning, it was all a mere coincidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is one of my personal favourites and I'm so glad it's finally here! 
> 
> A few things about the chapter: slavery was a common thing in ancient Athens and the wealthy households had at least a few slaves. Himation and chiton are types of clothing, think a toga over a t-shirt and you're pretty close.
> 
> Also, here's a shameless link to my art, specifically the [Good Omens folder](https://www.deviantart.com/berende/gallery/72956832/good-omens)  
> I'm taking suggestions lol


	14. Introspection Around the Mediterranean

Aziraphale loved Athens. There was such culture, there, and such good food. He felt he had many opportunities to do good in the world, here.

That’s why he stayed in the same area for almost a century.

Miraculously, none of the people ever seemed to wonder why he never aged. They came, and they went, and they left him to his own.

Aziraphale regretted losing many of them. They had become friends and neighbours, and losing them always hurt. But he knew that if he’d done his job right, they all went to a better place.

He thought about Artemisia often after she had eloped with the nice boy from next door. She deserved so much and he could only hope the boy could give her even a fraction of what Aziraphale would have wanted for her.

Crawly’s words right before Artemisia’s departure had made him wonder if he actually was capable of giving more of himself to a human than he had previously thought. He certainly loved them all, but Artemisia’s intelligence and lust for life had really affected him. He was pretty sure he hadn’t fallen  _ in love _ with her, as humans were wont to do, but… perhaps he could have tried to give her what she had wanted. After mulling this over for a long time, he had decided that no - he could not have. He could not have lied to her. He had respected her, and he had cared for her, but he had loved her in exactly the same way as he loved the rest of them. He did not want to deceive her, and he did not desire her.

Speaking of desire, guilt and shame had burned him for a long, long time after he’d last seen Crawly.

He’d invited the demon over. He had been so overtaken by something he had never truly experienced before - desire. It had burned in his veins and turned his thoughts fuzzy. He had looked into those yellow eyes, felt the hot breath against his ear…

_ Take me home with you. _

There had been such promise in those words, and they had entrapped him. He had never wanted anything like that and it had both thrilled and scared him. As he had led the demon to his house, he hadn’t known what to expect, but he had been willing, so curious…

And Crawly had not come in. 

Afterwards, Aziraphale had come to the logical conclusion that the demon had never intended to follow him inside. Of course not. The realisation had scalded him worse than anything else. 

It had been nothing but a game to him. All this time… nothing but a wicked game.

Crawly had proven his point, hadn’t he? He had successfully tempted an angel. Just like he had tried to do that time in Thebes, or even in Memphis. That’s all there was to it, Aziraphale knew it now. Of course the demon had wanted nothing to do with him otherwise. 

When he had realised what he had almost agreed to, he had been relieved beyond belief that he hadn’t gone through with it. His desire had been nothing but a moment of weakness, pure madness, surely; and as much as he thought he had wanted it, he knew he would have regretted it.

It didn’t stop the shame he felt, nor the burning hurt when he thought how Crawly must be laughing at his expense, now. It made Aziraphale question every interaction he’d had with the demon - had any of it been genuine? All those times talking, drinking, laughing… had it all been meaningless to him? 

Aziraphale didn’t see the demon for the whole time he spent in Athens. Crawly had promised to see him around, but after that night, he was nowhere. The apple Aziraphale had found on his doorstep seemed both cruel mockery and a friendly gesture. The fruit sat on his table until it shrivelled; he never did know what he should do with it.

A part of him missed Crawly’s company, and an equal part never wanted to see him again.

So he went on with his existence. He helped, and he blessed, and he collected stories and learned more writing. He made friends, he lost them to age, and helped them tirelessly. He tried to push Crawly out of his mind. He found that if he focused enough on reading and writing, he could almost forget ever knowing him. Just as well. He had been a fool to ever think that a demon would talk to him for any other reason than to tempt and gain an edge. At times, it had almost felt like he had a friend, but that was a ridiculous idea, he now knew.

Aziraphale left Athens, eventually. He travelled North briefly, but had come to love the Mediterranean enough to return. He arrived in the city of Rome when it was developing into something bigger and had begun conquering its neighbouring nations. Heaven sent him there early on because they thought the place could use some guidance.

So Aziraphale helped wherever he could. The first decades were very turbulent, and war was something he had never been good with. So much suffering hurt him deep within. But he persisted and rejoiced in the small victories - the ruler swayed to judge fairly, the family saved from a raid. The decades were filled with work, and loss, and victory, and he did his best.

When he heard that a great library was being built in Alexandria, Egypt, he wanted nothing more than to head there directly. He’d come to love the written word, the smell of papyri, and he was endlessly intrigued by the notion of having such a large collection of information gathered in one place.

He restrained himself for a few decades and gave the library more time to develop before deciding that Rome was, really, in a good place, and he could spend a bit of time elsewhere.

Aziraphale thrived in Alexandria. He managed to get a position as a librarian and couldn’t have been happier. He enjoyed tending to the scrolls, keeping them organised, and discussing them with his fellow librarians and scholars. New ones kept coming in and the place teemed with human history.

Occasionally, during his time in Rome, Alexandria, or elsewhere, he thought there was a scent of brimstone and apples drifting from somewhere, but he never saw a single glimpse of the demon. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him. Crawly was gone, probably across the world for all he knew, and it was better like that.

The emptiness in the bottom of his heart disagreed, but it was nothing time and steady faith in the Plan wouldn’t erase, he told himself for decade after decade.

It never seemed to go away.

After slithering out of Athens following his bitter victory at tempting an angel, Crawly curled up in a nice, warm hole in the ground and slept for two decades solid. 

When he finally woke up and uncoiled himself, he spent a nice few moments of calm basking in the warm spring sun. The world smelled pretty much the same. The people seemed the same. He took on his human form and stretched himself. He adjusted his outfit to match whatever the people were wearing - it hadn’t really changed much - and then the events prior to his nap hit his consciousness with a pang.

If he’d thought sleeping would make the uncomfortable feelings go away, or make something better, he’d been sorely mistaken. He felt no better at all. There was still a storm of worrying thoughts roiling inside him, and he just wanted to roar and tear something apart. 

He got drunk, instead. It also didn’t make him feel better. But it did make him forget, for a while.

Crawly wondered what Aziraphale was thinking about it all. He’d sure given mixed signals to the angel, and his sudden departure after such intense tempting must have seemed weird as Hell. He remembered the look in those bright eyes, and wished he could just… not remember. 

Crawly spent a good deal of time North of the Mediterranean and was almost glad when Head Office ordered him to do some fomenting somewhere specific. It was something to do, and it was a distraction. He was sent southward, or East, because apparently Hastur was doing bad deeds in the North. Crawly pitied the poor humans there - Hastur had no imagination, so their suffering wouldn’t even be special, not the stuff fearfully told in stories for centuries after.

Whenever he smelled the familiar vanilla and clear skies, Crawly ran, if possible. If he absolutely didn’t have to be in the area, he wouldn’t be. He left, and did his own thing elsewhere. He did not want to run into the angel. 

If he slept, he sometimes woke up to the scent of sunlight, only for it to fade as soon as he frantically sought the source. He hated how badly he wanted to be with the angel, and simultaneously be nowhere near.

After a decade or so more, however, Crawly’s curiosity got the better of him. He realised he  _ did  _ want to see the angel, he just didn’t want to be seen by him. So he sought out the scent once more and caught it as if he’d never stopped trying.

Crawly saw Aziraphale comforting a mother who’d lost her husband and sons in war. He saw him bless the home of newlyweds. Saw him tell a story to children. Heal an injured animal. Influence humans to do good. Saw him drink, and read, and eat, and laugh. Saw him sigh and hold back tears alone in an alley after a bitter failure. 

So many times he wanted to reach out and let the angel know he was there. Crawly always left before he noticed him.

He wasn’t sure why he kept checking up on the angel, so he chose not to think about it too hard. Deep down, he felt like he knew - but every time his mind wandered too close to the truth he swerved back quickly. Living in denial suited him just fine.

When Crawly heard of a library in Alexandria, he didn’t have to strain his senses to figure out where Aziraphale was; his ever-growing love for scrolls and knowledge over the millennia made it obvious that the angel would gravitate towards Alexandria.

Crawly was right, of course. He hid outside the library, a little snake in the grass and among rocks, waiting. He heard Aziraphale before seeing him - the bubbly, pleasant voice chattered on about something. He raised his head slightly and saw the angel walk out of the library. He shone in the sun so brightly Crawly wanted to look away, but couldn’t. There was a man walking beside him, listening to him intently.

Aziraphale talked about language. Crawly listened only partly. Something about diversity, and interesting patterns, and whatnot… the man by the angel’s side looked at him reverently and nodded enthusiastically at something. Aziraphale listened when he spoke and Crawly found it disgusting how they agreed on something, laughing.

He turned back to his humanoid self and followed the angel and his companion a careful distance away, staying in the shadows as much as possible.

They talked like old friends. Maybe they were. Crawly was of the opinion that someone immortal shouldn’t really make human friends. They didn’t last very long. He preferred to never get too close to anyone, himself - too much bother for such a fleeting acquaintance. 

Aziraphale seemed to either actually get close to people, or appear as if he did; Crawly wasn’t quite sure. The angel always treated the person he was with like they were the most important being in the world. It was just his way. Crawly briefly wondered if the angel had ever looked at him the way he looked at his human friends. Like he was the only one who mattered.

He cursed under his breath. Athens had really messed him up, and it had been a mistake to follow the angel here. He turned on his heels and began hurrying somewhere, anywhere else, when somebody screamed behind him.

Crawly turned to look as the smell or fear spread in the air like wildfire. The busy street swarmed as people tried to escape out of the way: a chariot led by two horses was speeding down the street. The driver yelled at the animals helplessly, having fallen off long ago.

Mayhem like this was usually interesting for Crawly, but he hadn’t expected his insides to turn into ice as he saw the horses about to trample over Aziraphale who was trying to lead his friend to safety. The human had tripped and fallen, and there was no chance they could get out of the way without a miracle. Aziraphale was too focused on his friend to act fast enough, and without thinking Crawly cast a miracle their way.

It all happened too fast for the humans to notice anything strange, and the ones who had seen the horses leap a bit higher than normal and briefly float in the air - with the chariot in tow - soon came to the conclusion that they must have seen wrong and supplemented their own memories of how the two men had avoided being trampled to death. Horses couldn’t fly, after all.

The horses were very confused afterwards and halted enough for people to catch them and stop the escape. Crawly stared as Aziraphale made sure his friend was alright. His heart leapt into his throat as the angel’s eyes scanned the crowd and met his. Of course he knew. Of course he’d felt the miracle.

For a brief moment they stared at one another before Crawly fled. Even after a century or two, he still couldn’t bring himself to actually speak with Aziraphale.

Meeting the angel’s eyes like that had made him feel strange. It had been a long time since he’d seen them, but even from a distance he knew exactly what they had looked like at that very moment. So clear and bright, perhaps a bit questioning.

Crawly wanted to scream. This was not alright. This line of thinking was… well, out of line. He needed to get a grip of himself. Thinking about how pretty the angel’s eyes were or how badly he missed the way he said his name was definitely not necessary.  _ At all.  _

After so long of planning, preparing, and executing his greatest temptation, he didn’t know what he wanted anymore; and he was terrified.

A series of misfortunes befell the people along the street as he passed them by.


	15. Alexandria, Egypt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's been a change in rating from T to M now - nothing in this chapter warrants that change, but considering the fic as a whole I felt like M was probably a better option. Just FYI :)

Aziraphale had dearly loved Alexandria for a couple of centuries. It was the home of scholars, artists, knowledge of all kinds - he had enjoyed it even more than Athens, in many ways. He’d helped the people, done his part in the Plan; he’d tended the library, learned and taught, and cared so much.

And now, all of it was burning because human pride and greed proved time and time again to be more powerful than anything else. It saddened him greatly, it always had, no matter the era.

Flames rose all around the grand city as he ran around the library, frantically thinking which scrolls among the thousands and thousands were most important. He could not decide - all of them deserved to survive. All the knowledge… he could not merely pick one, or even a few. 

The library had caught fire. It raged nearby and the precious scrolls were perfect kindling to the hungry flames.

After running around desperately for a while he stopped and collapsed on the floor. His efforts were futile. He sat there and grieved even as the fire crawled closer and he began to feel the heat of it on his skin. Aziraphale mourned the losses - not only of the innocent people in Alexandria, not only of their homes, but also of all the knowledge that was soon to be turned to ash.

He didn’t really know what it was about the written word that so appealed to him, but it hurt him to see it destroyed. Such effort and care put into every scroll, soon disappearing. Many of the scrolls had outlived the hands that wrote them. Legacies and memories burned to nothing.

He coughed as smoke reached him. He turned to look at the hallway behind him and realised the fire had crept worryingly close. He should probably leave. Discorporation via fire seemed like one of the least desirable ways to go. He grabbed an armful of scrolls from a nearby shelf and shuffled towards where he knew the exit was. 

There was smoke everywhere. He stopped breathing and that helped a bit. It still stung in his eyes and made them water, distorting his view. Everything was fire and smoke, red and darkness, and the familiar hallways now seemed alien and threatening. Why hadn’t he left with all his fellow librarians? Why had he thought he could save anything? He couldn’t even save himself.

Aziraphale crouched on the floor under the thick layer of smoke. He just needed to keep his head clear. He needed to remember where in the library he was; he knew it like his own pockets, could picture it in his head. He closed his eyes. A bit of smoke and fire couldn’t stop him.

He got up again and continued walking. The visibility was terrible but he knew where to go. He was getting hopeful about his escape until he arrived at the exit and saw it was nothing but a wall of flames.

He gasped desperately and regretted it immediately as smoke filled his lungs and made him cough. That only made it worse as his corporation took in more and more smoke. He knew bodies weren’t designed to handle this and fell on his knees. He clasped a hand on his mouth and forced his body to calm down. Smoke still tickled and ached in his lungs, but with a carefully controlled breath he blew it all out and did not inhale again. He knew he could will his corporation to function without air for a while, but the thing was designed to breathe and to require breathing. He needed to leave, now.

Aziraphale turned around. There were other exits but this one had been the closest. He began heading another way, but suddenly couldn’t quite figure out where he was. He thought he was in the East wing but now that he looked around, it all seemed unfamiliar. 

He wondered if it was more painful to die in the flames or by inhaling smoke. Explaining this discorporation at Head Office would not be fun. He hadn’t done any heroics, hadn’t saved innocents or defeated the Other Side, no - he had tried to save papyri. Nobody would understand.

Discorporation started to seem inevitable, however, as he realised he was completely lost. Shelves were falling down and blocking his way, and eventually he had to admit there was nowhere he could go. All paths were nothing but darkness and fire. He cowered next to a wall and debated on the quickest way to discorporate when there was suddenly a hand on his mouth and another on his arm.

He yelped in shock and saw a pair of yellow eyes watching him. 

“Don’t inhale,” Crawly advised sternly from behind a scarf he’d tied over the lower half of his face. “Here.”

He removed the hand on Aziraphale’s mouth and handed him a scarf.

“You have to let go of those,” the demon motioned to the scrolls he was still desperately clutching. “There’s no way we’ll get out of here with them. You’ll need your hands.”

Aziraphale almost wanted to argue - he was in this mess only because he had wanted to save the scrolls, and now he was just supposed to drop them and let the fire consume them? But he did understand the severity of the situation, and something in Crawly’s eyes made the argument die in his throat. There was an intensity there he hadn’t seen before. Or maybe it just appeared that way because he hadn’t properly seen them in centuries.

He swallowed his pain and gently put down the papyri. He took the cloth the demon offered and wrapped it around his face.

“Let’s go,” Crawly nodded and grabbed his wrist. “Stay close. Try not to breathe.”

They walked crouched to avoid the heavy blanket of black smoke hanging over them. Aziraphale had no idea where they were going and had no choice but to blindly put all his trust into the demon walking before him. Crawly’s grip was firm on his wrist.

It was slow going but Crawly seemed to know the way. After what seemed like an eternity of smoke and heat - was this what Hell was like? - Crawly stopped and turned to face him.

“The wall’s collapsed here,” the demon said. “You need to crawl up the rubble before you can get outside. Follow me and don’t stop.”

Crawly waited until Aziraphale nodded his understanding, and then began to climb up what had used to be the Northern wall. He followed the demon as closely as possible. His hands and knees scraped on the sharp edges of the broken masonry and the air flowing from somewhere above attracted the fire towards it. 

Suddenly Crawly disappeared from view and Aziraphale thought he’d strayed, somehow - but they had only arrived at the exit. Crawly was waiting for him outside in the cool night air, feet firmly on ground. The demon actually held out a hand to help him get down the unsteady rubble. Aziraphale felt only marginally ashamed to take it.

“Come on,” Crawly said when they were both out of the library and began heading towards the harbour.

“But the fleet…” Aziraphale knew the shores of Alexandria hadn’t been the most peaceful lately.

“Burnt,” Crawly replied. “Come  _ on.” _

Aziraphale followed as the demon led him along the streets until they arrived at a quiet nook of the harbour. They descended to the waterline, almost under a bridge, and Aziraphale felt Crawly hide them under a miracle.

“You look terrible,” the demon remarked, eyeing him all over. Aziraphale glanced down at himself. Soot everywhere, burnt holes in his robes where sparks had hit him. He took off the protective cloth from his face.

“Quite,” he sighed. He had no will left to worry about such trivial things as his appearance. His beautiful city was burning, his precious scrolls were gone. He sat down and slumped against the stone structure. The water before him glimmered red with the reflection of the fires.

Crawly sat down next to him. Aziraphale turned to look at him and had to wonder. What was the demon doing here? Did Hell have a part in all this? Why had he come to the library at all?

The demon wasn’t looking at him. Aziraphale swallowed nervously. The last time he’d seen Crawly was almost a century ago, also in Alexandria. The day he’d almost gotten run over by an errant chariot. The day he’d been miraculously saved and seen a familiar face in the crowd.

A sea of conflicting emotions filled him. He was grateful for the rescue, but suspicious of the motives. A part of him was happy to see the demon again, and an equal part burned with bitter shame. Most of all, he was confused and had no idea what he should say.

He decided to stay civil.

“Are you here on business?” Aziraphale hazarded a question. Crawly looked at him pensively.

“Maybe,” was the evasive answer.

“Are any of the fires…”

“It’s all human work,” Crawly snapped. Aziraphale lowered his eyes. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise to a demon.”

“Sorry,” Aziraphale had to repeat. Crawly looked at him and sucked his teeth, irritated, and Aziraphale failed in containing an amused smile.

“Idiot,” Crawly huffed, but there was a hint of a chuckle mixed in.

“Why were you at the library?” Aziraphale had to ask. He was genuinely interested in the answer. By the time Crawly had arrived, everything had been on fire. If he had been honest and all the fires were caused by humans alone, why had he been there? There had been nothing to salvage and nothing to gain.

Crawly didn’t answer immediately. He stared at the sea and clenched his jaw.

“Happened to be around.”

“Doing what?”

“Does it matter?” Crawly hissed. His eyes shone with the same strange intensity as earlier.

“I suppose not,” Aziraphale mumbled and looked away. “Lucky for me you happened to be there.”

“I happen to be at a lot of places.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Crawly glanced at him and quickly averted his eyes again. Aziraphale was keenly aware that the demon had now twice saved him since the last time they’d properly talked. He was trying to wrack his brain to figure out why. Crawly was obviously keeping an eye on him. For work, of course. Hell needed to know where he was, he supposed. How else was Crawly going to thwart him? But it just seemed strange that a demon would save him from discorporation like that - surely it would be a win for Hell if he perished?

“If I was discorporated,” Aziraphale began warily and Crawly’s gaze snapped on him at once, “wouldn’t that be beneficial for you? Wouldn’t it have made sense to let me die in the fire? Not that I wanted to die, of course, but…”

His voice trailed off. Crawly stared at him motionlessly and then looked away with a huff.

“Like I’ve said before,” the demon muttered, “I’d rather deal with you than someone else. Your side is full of pricks, and you’re the least prick-like of them all.”

“My side is  _ not  _ full of pricks,” Aziraphale tutted. “But… I understand. Although, you should know that I won’t be thwarted without a fight.”

“Oh, I know,” Crawly grinned. “It’s just that I know you’ll give fair warning if you’re about to smite me. The others probably wouldn’t. I like having a little chat every once in a while, you know, in between the fierce battles we engage in.”

Aziraphale had to chuckle. Deep down he knew he shouldn’t find it funny. Deep down he knew he should be doing his best to hinder and harm Crawly, but… he also liked to chat every now and then. 

Aziraphale had in no way forgotten about Athens. The humiliation and the shame. A part of him wanted to talk about it and sort it all out, but another part wanted to pretend it had never happened. 

He looked at the demon staring at the sea and his heart swelled. It ached. Now that they were there, together, he could not hide from the fact that he had missed his adversary. No matter how badly Crawly had hurt him, no matter how scalding his humiliation had been, Aziraphale had to admit he was weak. He was hopelessly weak to the demon’s power, his wiles and temptations. As he watched the fire glimmering in Crawly’s red curls and saw those yellow eyes scanning the horizon, he knew he would again and again fall into the trap he’d become so familiar with.

Maybe Crawly saw him as nothing but a tool, maybe all he wanted was to use him for information and leverage… but maybe Aziraphale was okay with that. Maybe that was just what they were, how they worked. A demon could never care about anyone as deeply as an angel could. Aziraphale believed it to be true, and who was he to deny facts of God?

Crawly was who he was - a demon. Aziraphale could not expect anything more. He realised, as he took in Crawly’s sharp profile, that it wasn’t anything personal. Demons were like that. But couldn’t he enjoy what they had, regardless? Did it really matter if Crawly was just pretending? Hadn’t they had fun in the past, hadn’t they helped each other on occasion?

Aziraphale was weak. He was willing to live under the illusion of friendship. He knew to be careful, now, to not give too much of himself. He craved the company, the laughter, the arguing; he needed to have this creature of Hell by his side, lurking in his wake, or one step ahead, and he was more than willing to ignore a few facts to keep whatever they had going.

“It’s been a while since we had a chat,” he hummed quietly.

What else was there to say? It was the truth. Crawly had made a fool of him and then disappeared. Aziraphale had learned his lesson, but he needed this. He watched the demon and didn’t dare to move. He didn’t know if he should bring up Athens. Probably not. If Crawly brought it up, he’d talk about it. He didn’t know which outcome he was hoping for.

“Nnh,” Crawly squirmed a bit and looked away. “Been busy. Demon stuff, you know how it is.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale agreed. Better forget the whole thing, then. It had meant nothing to the demon, of course - it should be insignificant for him, too. They were enemies, after all, it was what they were supposed to do. “I, too, have been busy. What with the… world and all. Rome’s become quite something, hasn’t it? Have you been to the capital?”

“Often,” Crawly nodded. “Great stuff. Lots to do.”

“I’ve stayed in Alexandria for a long time,” Aziraphale sighed. Sadness threatened to overwhelm him as he remembered the dear library. “I suppose I’ll need to move on.”

“Are you going to Rome?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Maybe. Or perhaps I’ll go East for a bit. Haven’t been there in ages, either.”

“You know humans always rebuild,” Crawly said, then, and his voice was oddly soft. Aziraphale looked at him and realised his sadness must have been very obvious. He forced a smile on his face.

“I know,” he replied. “They’re resilient things, despite everything. It’s just…” he swallowed and stared at the fire glimmering on the water. “It’s always hard to see the work of centuries be reduced to nothing in a matter of hours.”

“That’s the beauty of it, though,” Crawly mused. “Something they’ve maintained for centuries or decades can crumble in a blink of an eye, but they still trudge on. They build new things, better things, they change and improve. They learn. Destruction is just as big a part of them as creating is.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Aziraphale hummed. He’d never really thought about it like that. “I guess I’m just a bit sad to see good things go, or change.”

“I’m a big fan of change, me,” Crawly announced. “It keeps things interesting. I mean, imagine how boring it would be if after all these millennia we’d still be pottering about in Eden?”

Aziraphale did imagine, and found it to be a horrible thought. Eden, in all its glory and harmony, had been frightfully boring. He was disturbed to think that way, but couldn’t stop himself. He noticed he was nodding in agreement.

“Humans aren’t meant to stay the same, I don’t think,” Crawly went on. “They wouldn’t keep inventing and improving otherwise.”

“I suppose,” Aziraphale sighed. He got up and walked to the water. He knelt down and washed his hands and his face; did his best to rub the soot off.

“Still with the ‘no miracles for my own sake’ nonsense?” Crawly asked. 

“Still,” he replied and wiped off the excess water from his face. Crawly was watching him with a dubious look.

“It’s a load of crap, if you ask me.”

“Lucky I didn’t ask, then,” Aziraphale hummed. He saw people running some distance away, carrying buckets and bowls and scooping up water from wherever they could. He heard their efforts at dousing the flames.

“I should help,” Aziraphale mumbled. Crawly huffed and got up.

“You probably should,” he agreed. They stood there, staring at each other, and Aziraphale felt like he should say something. 

“Maybe next time,” Crawly shrugged, “we’ll get drinks, or something.”

“Maybe,” Aziraphale nodded and couldn’t stop himself from smiling warmly. 

“See you,” the demon turned and waved his hand, disappearing into the shadows.

Aziraphale stared after him and knew he shouldn’t be excited about the prospect of seeing the demon again. He definitely shouldn’t make any plans with him, and absolutely should not feel happy that they’d met once more.

Crawly was a demon, a vile, treacherous being who existed only to tempt and defile. Aziraphale should want nothing to do with him.

But Aziraphale was weak, and so he joined the fire fighting efforts with renewed vigour and hope for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm aware the library of Alexandria probably didn't burn but rather slowly fell into disrepair, but come on - how could I avoid that good a source of drama and excitement? Not like the canon is historically correct, anyway. :D


	16. Gethsemane, 33 AD

Change was inevitable and desirable. Crawly had learnt that much over the few millennia he’d spent with humanity. Stagnation was not his thing at all. Change was good, change was necessary, and he felt he needed some.

Something about him was different than a millennia or so ago, and he needed to do something different. Something that mattered.

He’d mulled over his name for a few centuries, already.  _ Crawly. _ It had connotations to it. It was snakey, in its way, but also had the very unpleasant meaning of snivelling. He was not one to crawl in front of anyone. Well, maybe if Satan himself summoned him he might try a bit of tasteful crawling, then. But otherwise, no thank you.

He had probably been given the name because of the double meaning. He wasn’t sure who had named him and exactly when; the time after the Fall had been very chaotic in very many ways. Old names would not do anymore, they were stripped of them, they were made to forget them; so in the beginning, the demons had just sort of milled about, claiming names and fighting for the best ones.

In retrospect, Crawly probably shouldn’t have spent so much time coiled in a lonely corner of Hell. He should’ve been there in the name game, and maybe he could have ended up with something a bit cooler.

Eventually, he’d come to the conclusion that he’d just go and change his name. Why should he stay the same? Humanity didn’t. 

He’d thought about all kinds of fancy names, demonic or human, but none of them had felt like him. After calling himself, and being called,  _ Crawly  _ for the longest time, a wholly different name didn’t really fit anymore. 

After some thought, he’d come to the conclusion that  _ Crowley  _ was a rather nice name. Close enough to Crawly in pronunciation, but different enough in meaning.

He figured he’d stick with the name for a few millennia, at least, to test it out. The other demons rolled their eyes at him, of course, but then they all had actual names, not just mocking descriptions. Not like Hastur was called  _ Frogley  _ or  _ Croaky _ . They’d get used to it.

He’d been getting used to his new name for the past few decades, and what interesting decades they had been. Rome still persisted, stronger than ever, one might say. But what had been happening in the East had been real fascinating.

Crowley had been in Nazareth when he’d felt a strong divine presence arrive. It hadn’t taken him long to rule out Aziraphale - there was none of the familiar scent present at all. It had been a cold, prickling, and disgustingly sterile kind of smell. He’d not sought out the source at the time, but snooping around afterwards had revealed that Gabriel himself had come down to Earth to appear to a supposed virgin woman.

Crowley had coaxed out all the rumours and gossip and had laughed in disbelief when he’d learned of Heaven’s latest invention: A son of God. Hell had also had a good laugh about it, but it had set gears in motion, Crowley could tell.

Regardless, he’d done his best to spy and disrupt things over the decades that followed.

Jesus hadn’t been a bad bloke, he’d come to find. He was genuinely nice and very righteous - but not in an obnoxious way. Heaven clearly wanted something big for him, so Crowley had done his best to tempt him over to Hell.

It hadn’t really worked. Too humble, that one. At least he’d tried.

And now he was standing on the darkening hill, next to Aziraphale, having just watched Mary’s son suffer and die on the cross. He acutely felt the angel’s heartache at the man’s fate. They hadn’t spoken since Crowley had arrived.

The crosses were taken down and the bodies removed and carried away. The onlookers and mourners left, night fell. Aziraphale hadn’t moved. He was still staring at the horizon with an uncustomarily indecipherable look in his eyes.

“Want to take a walk?” Crowley asked. The angel looked at him quizzically.

“Why?”

“Why? Because you need one,” Crowley countered. “Come on. We’ll talk.”

Aziraphale looked puzzled, but followed when Crowley led.

Gethsemane was empty in the darkness. It was a soothing kind of place, Crowley had always rather liked it. 

“I heard his pleas,” Aziraphale said quietly as they walked slowly amidst the trees. “I heard him being so afraid. Calling to God, being so… human.”

“Wasn’t he?” Crowley asked. “Human, I mean.”

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale sighed. “Of course. But I watched him, you know. From the start. I knew he was important, what with Gabriel himself coming down to appear to Mary…”

“A bit pompous, if you ask me. And a bit strange to tell them their son was the son of God.”

Aziraphale smiled faintly. “Well, it’s a part of the ineffable plan.”

“What isn’t,” Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale hummed in thought. “They gave this man such power and such compassion… anyone would believe to be the son of a god, after that.”

“Which was the point, I rather think,” Crowley huffed.

“Of course,” Aziraphale replied. “One must wonder what is to come, with such attention being directed towards one man.”

“Haven’t they told you?” Crowley asked, and the angel was flustered.

“It’s not my place to know.”

“You’ve been here from the start, doing all that good,” Crowley drawled. “And you don’t know?”

“This was mostly Gabriel’s job. I do as I’m told,” Aziraphale went on, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as much as Crowley.

“All a part of the big plan,” Crowley said rather sarcastically, and if Aziraphale noticed, he let it slide.

“Precisely.”

“Did they tell you to stay with him until the end?”

“... no.”

“I’m not surprised you did, anyway,” Crowley noted softly. He hadn’t meant to sound soft, but it was too late now. “I’m sure it offered him some consolation.”

“Do you think so?” Aziraphale looked at him with those hopeful, worried eyes Crowley had sought out since Eden. Then the eyes faltered and he looked away. “I’m not sure it’s a good thing. I think they meant for him to… suffer.” The clear distaste and doubt seeping into his voice made something tighten in Crowley’s chest. Hope and fear. Hope that the angel would stop defending Heaven’s every mistake, and fear that the doubts would cost him his divinity.

“I think he suffered, regardless,” Crowley hummed. “And what kind of a God wants to have their favourite human suffer like that? You were the only one with mercy, by a mile. You made that one bloke offer him the wine beforehand, didn’t you?”

Aziraphale said nothing, too afraid to admit trying to ease a dying man’s pain. It rubbed Crowley the wrong way to think that showing kindness was a cause of reprimand in Heaven’s book. It was wrong. Even he knew it should’ve been the opposite.

“It probably makes it worse when it comes from me,” Crowley drawled, “but I think you did the right thing.”

Aziraphale turned his eyes on him and there was such wordless gratitude in them that Crowley just wanted to run and hide, coil away in the shadows and never look at the angel again. 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale breathed, and Crowley bristled a bit.

“Told you before...” he grunted.

Aziraphale smiled. “You know, I thanked you the very first time I met you.”

“And it’s been all downhill from there.”

The angel giggled. Crowley hated how the sound lifted his spirits and made his lips quirk. He bit back his smile.

“Why did you change your name?” Aziraphale asked, then.

Crowley shrugged. “Just felt like it.”

“That’s it?”

Of course that wasn’t it. But Crowley didn’t really feel like explaining the finer details. He was in no way ready to talk about the Fall or its aftermath with an angel. He made no reply and Aziraphale seemed to understand it wasn’t a discussion they were going to have.

“Should I change my name?” Aziraphale frowned. “Sometimes the humans have a hard time with it. I go by aliases, occasionally...”

“Do you  _ want  _ to change your name?”

“No,” the angel replied easily. “It was given to me. I like my name.”

“Me too,” Crowley said before thinking, and immediately regretted it when he noticed how the angel looked at him. But it was true - he did like the name  _ Aziraphale. _ It was divine but with an Earthly edge; it rolled off his tongue easily and to him, there was nothing in creation worth the name except the angel.

“Well, I’ll keep it,” Aziraphale hummed happily. 

_ Good, _ Crowley thought. As much as he loved change, the thought of Aziraphale changing rubbed him the wrong way. He wanted to keep this angel as he was, fussy and fidgety and impossibly  _ Aziraphale. _ He felt quite possessive - it wouldn’t be his angel if he went and changed.

_ His angel. _

Crowley swallowed and glanced at the angel walking beside him, lost in thought and glowing under moonlight.  _ His  _ angel.

The thought thrilled him and scared him, but few things had felt so right. 

Crowley’s mind was full of imaginative expletives as those two simple words confirmed what he had danced around for a long time. Ever since Athens he had ignored, avoided, and denied, and now of all times it hit him.

This was his angel, his only friend in the whole of existence. 

Demons couldn’t love, Crowley had been told, but whatever this feeling was that swallowed him whole came damn close.

“Love will win, of course,” Aziraphale said so suddenly that Crowley almost stumbled in his steps.

“W-what?”

“The poor man was killed because he tried to tell us to love one another. But love will prevail.”

“Yeah, no, I think he was killed because people kept saying he was a king,” Crowley retorted, trying to calm himself from the shock. For a horrible moment there, he’d thought Aziraphale had somehow managed to read his mind.

“Well, regardless,” the angel huffed. “I’m sure good things will come of all this. It wouldn’t be a part of the Plan, otherwise.”

Crowley could only hum doubtfully at this. As far as he remembered, every twist and turn in the Plan had brought along great things, but also absolutely horrifying things. He thought it best not to mention it right now. Aziraphale’s mood had improved and he didn’t want to ruin it. His angel deserved to be happy.

“Thank you, Craw- Crowley,” the angel stopped and smiled at him, correcting the name awkwardly.

“Come on, we were just through this… and for what?”

“Everything,” Aziraphale’s smile became softer. “I know it’s not your intention to ease my mind, but often you manage to do just that. You probably don’t want to hear it since you’ve intended the opposite, but you made me feel better. Good night.”

The angel smiled and nodded and went on his way, leaving Crowley staring after him with his jaw on the ground.

“You bastard,” he whispered into the air long after Aziraphale had gone. That’s what the angel thought of him? That he was  _ accidentally  _ helping? Not an unfair assumption if you thought about it from the perspective of what demons were supposed to do, but… for the longest time now, Crowley had only wanted to see Aziraphale smile. He’d had ulterior motives, sure, but even then he’d been happy to see the angel happy. He’d regretted hurting him, he’d beaten himself up if he’d made the angel sad.

And now this divine  _ idiot  _ had the gall to suggest none of it was real?

He really was the densest angel out there.

And Crowley hated that he loved him.


	17. Rome, 41 AD - Divine Interference

Aziraphale wasn’t sure why he was feeling so nervous. There he was, sitting with his wily adversary, waiting for the oyster platter. Crowley had ordered wine immediately and was already well into his second cup. Aziraphale maintained polite and mundane conversation. He was strangely afraid of saying the wrong thing - since greeting the demon in the previous tavern he had already called him by the wrong name and somehow managed to insult him right after.

Things were stirring in the wake of Christ’s death; his followers were new, but they were slowly spreading. It caused a lot of work for Aziraphale, and doubtless for Crowley as well. Now, it almost seemed like Aziraphale had forgotten how to speak with the demon, even though it had been a mere few years since they’d last met. He fidgeted nervously and wondered if this had been a bad idea, after all. Crowley seemed to be in a bit of a testy mood and Aziraphale was beginning to think he would have rather been left to his own devices than join an angel for lunch.

When the oysters arrived, Aziraphale cheered up a bit. They were served with lemon, and it was incredible. He squeezed fresh lemon juice on the oysters and took one happily, motioning for Crowley to do the same.

The demon stared at the things over his ridiculous glasses and looked appalled.

“You like these?” he asked and looked all kinds of disgusted.

“Obviously,” Aziraphale replied. He held the oyster half way to his mouth and was nervous again. “It tastes wonderfully like the sea, and the lemon really brings it to another level. Try one - you just take it, and…” he demonstrated by swallowing the delicious treat, savouring the briny taste and the zang of lemon.

Crowley looked shocked.

“Those are still alive,” he said, as if it was any argument.

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale admitted. “If they’re dead in the shell, you shouldn’t eat them. It means they’re spoiled.”

Crowley had his elbows on the table and was leaning his head in his hand, mouth agape and staring at Aziraphale as if he’d lost his mind altogether.

“Little did I know how things would turn out when I told you to try food that one time,” the demon muttered, shaking his head slightly.

Aziraphale swallowed and began to feel a bit hot in the face. Trust a demon to remind him about the sin of gluttony. He hadn’t started eating because of Crowley, necessarily, but he had to admit the demon’s words a few millennia ago had given him food for thought. Pun unintended.

It had taken him long to try meat. It had taken him longer to try meat that wasn’t fully cooked. Eating a living thing whole was something that had given him pause. But when in Rome, one must do as the Romans do. 

He’d gotten quite good at ignoring guilt and justifying his actions.

“You eat, too,” was Aziraphale’s counter. Crowley shrugged.

“Eh, sure, but... I’m more into liquid sustenance, so to speak. Chewing is so much effort.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and decided to enjoy his meal. He swallowed another oyster and Crowley grimaced.

“You should try one,” he tried to encourage. “Barely any chewing required.”

Crowley looked thoroughly unconvinced. 

“It looks like snot.”

“Hardly!” Aziraphale gasped and felt somehow personally attacked. “You won’t know if you like it or not if you don’t try.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea,” the demon scrunched his nose at the platter. “I’ll stick to wine, thanks. You enjoy those things more, anyway, so you can have them.”

As disappointed as Aziraphale was that Crowley wasn’t even going to have a taste, he couldn’t argue with logic like that. He finished the oysters quite happily as Crowley drank and watched.

During the meal Aziraphale kept up a light conversation. He found himself getting quite annoyed at Crowley’s dark glasses - he couldn’t see his eyes that well, and it bothered him. Sometimes he caught glimpses of yellow when the demon held his head a certain way, or turned; the dark slivers of glass weren’t very large. 

“Why do you wear… those?” he had to ask as he gestured to his own eyes as an example. Crowley sucked his teeth for a bit before answering.

“Why do you think?”

“Well, I,” Aziraphale huffed. “I don’t know. What are they, anyway?”

“These are great for shielding eyes against the sun.”

“Does the sun bother you?”

“No.”

“Then what…?”

“You think it’s easy to blend in with… with these?” Crowley hissed and gazed at Aziraphale over the glasses, his snake-eyes bright and obvious.

“You’ve managed fine for four millennia,” Aziraphale argued weakly. He was used to seeing those eyes, and he found he rather missed them. 

“Yeah, well,” the demon took a long gulp of wine. “Casting constant miracles to make people ignore them is a damn bother.”

“Ah,” was all Aziraphale could say. It made sense, of course. For Crowley to stay undetected, he needed to not look so… demonic. “Well, good, then.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, that much Aziraphale could tell. He fidgeted with his ring and fell silent. Crowley was eyeing the crowd, drinking quietly. Things were getting quite awkward again and he had no idea how to fix it.

“Is everything alright?” he had to ask. He had a feeling something was bothering Crowley. There was none of the teasing banter he’d become used to, no snide comments or wicked grins. No idle chat.

Crowley made a grunt of some kind and curled his lips in distaste. A clear sign of everything not being alright.

“Did something happen?” Aziraphale prodded. Crowley glanced at him and again made noises that weren’t quite words.

“Not yet.”

Aziraphale took in the meaning of the words as Crowley shifted nervously. There was something afoot which made Crowley nervous, and that was not a good sign.

“What is going to happen?”

“Not like I’d tell you,” the demon scoffed, but there was no real ire behind his words.

“Of course,” Aziraphale nodded. He needed to play his cards right. “I know. But you don’t need to tell me exactly what is going to happen… I would just like to know why you are so anxious about it.”

“I’m not anxious.”

Aziraphale tutted in frustration as Crowley drummed his fingers against the table without even noticing.

“Is it something… big?”

“Ehh,” Crowley squirmed a bit. “Not really. Just a bit… unsavoury.”

The demon swallowed and avoided looking at Aziraphale.

“I might have been the catalyst,” Crowley continued and glanced at him briefly. “Might have orchestrated it. In a sense. I mean, I only made a few silly suggestions, and lo and behold, Hell thinks it’s a great idea!” He spread his arms and huffed in frustration.

“What is going to happen?” Aziraphale asked again. He was suddenly not sure if he wanted to know. Anything that made a demon nervous was surely nothing pleasant.

“So, tonight, maybe,” Crowley began, looking anywhere but at him, “a few children - not many! - but a  _ few  _ might get abducted and sold off as slaves elsewhere.”

The shock that washed over Aziraphale eradicated all the joy he had gained from the oysters or from catching up with Crowley. The demon was biting his nails, still avoiding looking his way.

“How-” Aziraphale could barely find words. “It was your idea?”

“No!” Crowley exclaimed. “Well, sort of. It was one of those meetings, just sitting in one room at Head Office and trying to come up with new ideas to mess with the humans. And just… everyone’s ideas were  _ so bad. _ Hastur has no imagination, I swear. None of them do. And I was mostly just spacing out, I was barely listening, and then Beelz is like, ‘hey  _ Crawly, _ what do  _ you  _ think?’ And what was I supposed to do? I just tossed words into the air, you know, the usual murder, mayhem, kidnap, and that’s what they latched onto!”

Aziraphale listened to this rant in silence and watched the demon getting more and more worked up. There was a tension in his jaw that he hadn’t seen before.

“So yeah, ‘good idea’, they tell me, and suddenly there are demons tempting a bunch of low-lifes to make money off of children. It’s not even good tempting, it’s lazy and unimaginative and just so boring.”

“How many children,” Aziraphale asked quietly.

“I dunno,” Crowley swallowed. “Eight… ish?”

“Tonight?”

“I suppose.”

“Will there be any demons involved?”

Crowley shook his head. “The seeds have already been sown. It’s all humans from now on.”

Aziraphale nodded and got up. He had thought to spend tonight cozy in his house, but he’d have to make a rain check.

“It was nice seeing you, Crowley,” Aziraphale gave him a strained smile. “You have a good night, now. I’ve got work to do, so if you’ll excuse me.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Crowley called after him, but Aziraphale was already outside. The demon made no attempt to follow and Aziraphale’s mind was already buzzing. He had to hurry. Sunset wasn’t far.

It took all of Aziraphale’s divine skill to poke, prod, and inquire around the town. Lucky for him, humans were wont to talk amongst themselves quite carelessly if they thought nobody was listening. Aziraphale visited all the least reputable taverns in town, all the seedy watering holes he would normally never have set a foot in. He learned much and was able to locate a house where a very shady meeting was taking place.

Five men from out of town were discussing their plan for the night. Aziraphale lurked outside the window, unseen. These men were poor and desperate, but it was no excuse. Nothing could excuse this plan. Aziraphale had to take a long breath to calm himself as he listened to the men plotting how they would sneak into homes and take the children.

He fretted outside and tried to come up with a plan. He usually preferred to sit in the sidelines and let the humans do the work - he’d whisper a few careful suggestions and they would do the good deeds for him. But there was nobody around. There was no one to whisper to, no one to influence; with time, he could of course have managed it, but there was no time. He had to get his hands dirty, metaphorically speaking.

He made sure to memorise every word about the locations they discussed. This would be a tricky task - five men and only one of him. The men planned to bring the children back to the house, so at least Aziraphale knew where they would end up. His goal was to prevent any abductions whatsoever, but he couldn’t split himself. 

As the men finished their plan, Aziraphale had also hatched his. It was rushed and wouldn’t hold all the way through, but he knew what to do. 

He intercepted one man on his way to his target. Aziraphale wasted no time in the dark of the night and directly told the man not to do it. This man was about to steal away two small girls, and Aziraphale would not have it. He spoke to the man hastily, but with weight; told him how he knew he wasn’t evil, how he could do so much more with his life if he only gave up crime and found work for himself. Aziraphale let all his grace seep into the air and eventually the man broke down crying. He sobbed about his little daughter, dead at age three, and swore to never harm a child. Aziraphale sent him on his way with his blessing.

Two out of eight children saved.

He rushed to the next location. A man was already entering through a window when Aziraphale caught his ankle and yanked him back. The man yelped and struggled, landing a solid punch on Aziraphale’s cheek. The man fled the scene. Aziraphale stared after him. He’d been scared - the youngest of the lot, Aziraphale could tell he had been hesitant from the start. This might have scared him straight, but he’d have to keep an eye on things.

Three out of eight children saved.

Aziraphale’s heart froze as he arrived at the next house and saw a man dragging away a little boy, bound and gagged, and a baby on a sling on his back.

“Wait!” he called, and the man turned to look at him with wide eyes. Then he ran.

Aziraphale followed, blessing the children and hoping this would all turn out for the best. He chased the man through the empty alleys until the abductor tripped on a cobble stone and fell. Heart in his throat, Aziraphale cast a miracle to protect the baby as the man tumbled.

Aziraphale caught up with the man and grabbed the boy and the baby from him. The boy was crying but the baby, protected by divine grace, had slept peacefully all the way through. The man groaned as he struggled up. He’d bashed his face on the stones and looked gruesome as he faced Aziraphale. There was blood all over, and he spat out teeth.

“Don’t ever touch these children again,” Aziraphale said, shaking all the pity out of his voice and imbuing it with as much angelic command as he could. The man swayed on his feet, delirious from his injury and intimidated by the divine before he scarpered off.

Aziraphale untied the boy immediately and healed him. He’d scraped his knees as the man had pulled him down with him. The miracle soothed him enough to stop him from crying.

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale said to him softly and wiped the tears from his cheeks. “Let’s get you home.”

He took the children back and tucked the boy quietly into his bed, casting a miracle over him to make it all seem like a bad dream. He laid the baby back into the crib next to its mother, and left as silently as only an angel can.

Five out of eight children saved.

Aziraphale knew he was running out of time. The chase had cost him time, and the first man had taken long to convince. He knew there were still two men out there, abducting poor little souls at this very minute, and there was no time to prevent it.

He found another location but to his horror the child was gone. He rushed to the next house, but the children were missing.

There was nothing else left to do than to head to their hiding place and get the children back.

Aziraphale listened under the window once more. Two men arguing. Children sobbing. He swallowed. How was he going to do this? The chances of talking two men out of it at once were slim, and he couldn’t use violence. Not in front of the children, and anyway he preferred to settle things peacefully.

The men were starting to get anxious and frustrated when their friends weren’t back yet. One of them yelled at the children to shut up, and Aziraphale was afraid he might hurt them. He needed to do something…

“Let’s just take these ones and leave,” the other man suggested. His friend agreed and Aziraphale panicked as he heard the children's terrified crying. He couldn’t wait anymore and rushed right inside the house.

The men stared at him, frozen, as he stood at the door in his white toga. The children were still sobbing, but even they were stunned to momentary silence.

“Stop,” Aziraphale said. He didn’t offer any reason or explanation because he couldn’t come up with one. He glanced at the children, huddled together against the wall, bound and gagged; tears had streaked their cheeks. Aziraphale was rarely angry, but seeing these innocent creatures treated like this made his blood boil.

He balled his fists and fixed a steely gaze on the men. One of them grabbed a sword.

“Leave,” Aziraphale said. His voice sounded wrong in his own ears. Too cold. “Get out of here and never harm another creature.”

He remembered Memphis, over a millennia ago, and the cruelty of Ahmes, and realised he had no one to help him, now. He was on his own, having meddled in this demonic plot. He was unarmed - and even if he had had a weapon, would he have used it? 

Aziraphale knew his only chance was to get the children out safe. The men began advancing on him even as he made his choice and dashed to the kids. A hasty miracle removed their bonds. As he had his back turned to the men, telling the children to run back home as fast as possible, the first hit landed.

Sharp pain in his side and a sickening crack told him of broken ribs as the other man kicked him. The children screamed and ran, thankfully, even as Aziraphale fell to the floor. He saw the unarmed man going after the children and acted before thinking. He stretched out his hand and cast a miracle. The man disappeared right as he was exiting the house. Aziraphale didn’t know where he’d sent the man, but hoped it wasn’t anywhere too pleasant.

The man with the sword didn’t seem to notice as his attention was fully on Aziraphale; he probably thought his accomplice had merely gone outside. Aziraphale tried to fight back, but another kick drove his already broken ribs closer to his lung. Breathing was difficult, so he stopped doing it.

“You can still repent,” Aziraphale tried. It was all he knew. He didn’t want to harm, didn’t want to kill, and even if this man deserved it, he could not kill a human. He was one of Her flock, though strayed; Hell had whispered into his ear and tempted him. If he could only repent, stop this madness, and do some good in the world, Aziraphale was sure She would show him mercy, in the end.

The man wasn’t listening. Aziraphale could sense his desperation - like a cornered animal. Before Aziraphale had time to do anything else, he felt pain like nothing he’d ever experienced before. With horror, he watched as the man’s blade sank into his midriff. 

His white toga slowly turned red when the man pulled the weapon out and raised it once more. Aziraphale stared. He watched his corporation bleed and felt the pain radiate through his whole being. Searing hot, cold as ice. He tasted iron. 

He knew he could survive this. Healing this would only take one miracle. He had sworn not to use miracles on himself, but surely,  _ surely  _ this was an exception. He had work to do, he couldn’t die, the children… 

He was too numb to do anything and realised too late that the blade was again descending on him. He knew it was over, and closed his eyes before the end.

The end didn’t come. Suddenly, the sword fell to the floor with a clang and the man ran out the door. Aziraphale thought he saw a giant snake in the room, but when he looked again he saw Crowley there, a dark figure against the dark night.

The demon rushed to his side and Aziraphale felt immense relief wash over him as his wound knit together and healed under Crowley’s hand.

Aziraphale sat up and out of habit drew a breath to say thank you, and at that point he was painfully reminded of his mangled ribs. He yelped in pain and embarrassingly fell against the demon’s shoulder.

Crowley didn’t shake him away, but instead held him still. “What’s going on? What’s wrong? Didn’t it - did the wound not…”

“It’s fine,” Aziraphale hissed and closed his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t waste miracles on himself, but he couldn’t hide this and he figured it was better to heal himself than have Crowley do it - again.

When he felt his rib cage was whole again, he drew a slow breath and was glad to feel perfectly normal.

He noticed he was still leaning on Crowley, so he pulled away and nodded to him politely. Then his eyes widened as he remembered what had caused all this.

“The children…!”

“Ran home,” Crowley replied, sitting opposite to him. “I saw them. They all made it.”

Aziraphale sighed in relief.

“That was some good thwarting,” Crowley said, his voice a bit shaky.

Aziraphale almost said thank you, but the words died on his lips when he realised what the compliment entailed.

“Were you watching the whole time?”

The demon shifted uncomfortably. “Well, it’s my job to monitor these things.”

“How could you,” Aziraphale gasped. He was shaken from the events, saddened for the fates of everyone involved, and not quite thinking straight. What he did know was that this was Hell’s doing. He was angry and full of adrenaline from everything. “How could you do this? Those children, Crowley! How could you design something like this…”

“It wasn’t my idea!” the demon argued indignantly. “I wasn’t - it wasn’t - I was just…Beelz… They were the ones who… ” He was waving his arms heatedly, but then his composure cooled and his eyes hardened behind the shades. He crossed his arms.

“You know what?” Crowley snarled. “What kind of a question is that?  _ ‘How could you?’ _ I’m a demon, you dimwit! It’s what I do. You keep forgetting. Don’t forget again.”

He was gone in a flurry of black cloth and Aziraphale was left alone in the house, shaken and bloodied.

Aziraphale made sure all the children were safely in their beds. He blessed them all and stayed in the area for the night to make sure the men didn’t return. He didn’t see Crowley or any other demon around and the night was uneventful.

He miracled his clothes clean. One miracle and the blood was gone. It seemed like such an insignificant thing. What did it matter, in the grand scheme of things? He was still reeling and numb from it all.

There was bitter bile at the back of his throat. The day had not gone as planned. It had started out so good - he’d had a lovely morning, a wonderful lunch; he’d met Crowley again, and… immediately things had started going downhill. And now, he’d driven the demon away.

He knew he shouldn’t feel bad about it. Crowley had admitted it himself - he was a demon, evil plans were what he did. Aziraphale reprimanded himself for forgetting, once again, that Crowley was not his friend. He was on the opposite side.

Then why did every look and grin from the demon make him so desperately wish that he could be redeemed?


	18. Rome, 100s AD - Heaven against Hell

Gladiators were, Crowley felt, one of the more interesting groups of people in all of Rome. They were a rough bunch, most of them hardened in many fights. A good laugh, as well.

Hell had an agenda with one particular man among them. Apparently, he had potential for the future and needed to be kept alive. Unfortunately for him, he’d been condemned to fight in the famous arena for his many, many crimes.

“Make sure he’s not sent down here yet,” Dagon had told Crowley. “We need him alive for now.”

Crowley did as he was told, of course. Though, he’d left the planning a bit too late. He’d had a really good time drinking at a delightful establishment with some great characters, so a small matter like keeping someone alive had kind of slipped his mind.

So he’d done what he always did - he’d winged it.

That’s why he was now entering the arena in the man’s stead, holding a gladius in his hand and wondering if he could be done with the fight fast enough to return to his drinking before all the good wine ran out. He’d yanked the surprised man away and told him to run, and at the last minute had merely taken his place.

The crowd cheered and booed and whatnot as he entered the bright sunlight of the arena. He marched towards the centre. His opponent was not there yet, but he supposed it wouldn’t be much of a fight. He was a demon, after all, and there had recently been a fresh batch of gladiators who’d been given the okay to fight. Novices, all of them.

He frowned as the opponent’s door opened and a scent of vanilla drifted into his consciousness.

_ Oh no, oh no no no… for Satan’s sake, _ of course nothing could be simple.

Crowley hissed as he watched Aziraphale walk towards him, radiant and soft as ever, looking strange in the fighting gear. The sword he carried was far from the nice flaming one he’d once owned.

The angel’s eyes widened in shock as he realised the situation.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a hush; he might as well have spoken freely, nobody could hear him from that far away, not with how noisy the audience was.

“I’m working, what are  _ you  _ doing here?”

“Saving a man who was supposed to fight today,” Aziraphale replied. “Is this… are you here for fun, or…?”

_ “I’m _ saving a man who was supposed to fight today,” Crowley groaned. “So what you’re telling me is, you’re here in someone’s place, and he’s off somewhere, being alive. And I’m here in someone’s place, and he too has fucked off to safety.”

Aziraphale spread his arms and dropped them to his sides helplessly.

“Essentially,” Crowley grimaced, “we’ve already done our jobs and now we’re just here for nothing.”

The crowd was starting to boo at them in unison, and Crowley realised they were expected to fight. The angel seemed to figure out the same.

“What do we do?” Aziraphale asked even as he took a fighting stance. “I don’t want to… I mean…”

“You entered an arena and you don’t want to fight?” Crowley mimicked his stance. “Just what did you expect to do?”

“Well, obviously I was prepared to fight,” the angel rolled his eyes. “Just not to the death. If I’d won, I’m sure mercy would’ve miraculously been shown to the poor man.”

“And if you’d lost?” Crowley began moving, and soon they were prowling each other in a circle.

“I was rather counting on human mercy,” the angel shrugged sheepishly. 

“Idiot,” Crowley scoffed. “Well, then. Do you still count on mercy?”

“Couldn’t we just call it a draw?”

“Ask them,” Crowley nodded towards the masses who were getting quite impatient with their slow start. “Look, let’s just get on with it. Unless you’ve forgotten how to use that thing?”

Aziraphale glanced at his sword and looked insulted. “I am a soldier,” was the indignant reply.

Crowley grinned and attacked.

It was kind of fun. He’d never seen Aziraphale engage in any kind of actual fighting; always the pacifist, always more willing to suffer than make others suffer. The angel was a good match though Crowley could tell he was holding back. Aziraphale moved far more gracefully than he’d have expected, wielding the sword as if it was an extension of his arm, and the thought that he was hiding away his true power was… exhilarating. 

Not that Crowley was struggling too badly. He, too, knew how to fight. It wasn’t his first time. His style might have been less refined and more barbaric, but he could hold his own. He was too proud to fake bad fighting, anyway, and Aziraphale’s accusations at their last meeting still stung. Crowley had had a century or so to mull it over.

At first, he’d been angry. That had lasted for a while. Apparently, whatever he did, the angel would always assume the worst. The anger had faded, eventually, and he’d decided not to think about it too hard. He hadn’t made any vows - hadn’t decided to convince Aziraphale, or prove him wrong or right; he’d just ignored it all.

He had no desire to hurt the angel,  _ his _ angel, and judging by the constant, careful misses from Aziraphale, the angel wasn’t keen on hurting him, either. Crowley remembered once telling him that they might end up discorporated at each other’s hand, but this seemed far too trivial for a discorporation. A battle for human amusement? Hardly worth all the paperwork.

The crowd was growing impatient and they both knew it. Neither had even gotten a hit in, and the audience wanted blood. Crowley was trying to think of a way out of this that wouldn’t discorporate either of them. 

He was briefly distracted by the thirsty cacophony from the crowd and it cost him. He felt an elbow strike hard against his chest and he fell in mid-movement. When he realised what had happened, he was already lying on his back with Aziraphale’s sword on his throat.

“Sorry,” the angel whispered to him. His eyes seemed to glow with the battle, his lips were parted; Crowley swallowed not out of fear, but out of desire. “Plead them for mercy,” Aziraphale whispered. “Please.”

“Not my kind of thing,” Crowley drawled, arms spread on the sand. “I don’t plead. Besides, they want blood.” He didn’t even care if he was digging his own grave. He could’ve lain there forever, staring into those intense eyes shining at him, for him. The crowd cheered and booed.

“You’re not supposed to be  _ you  _ in this fight,” the angel breathed. “You’re… whoever you replaced. He would plead. He would call for mercy. Please.”

Crowley stared. It went against pride to show such weakness, but the genuine desperation and pain in the angel’s voice made him rethink. Aziraphale did not want to kill anyone, not even his adversary, his enemy. Not even when he knew a human sword could never truly destroy a demon. Crowley could tell that if the angel was forced to end a life, no matter how seemingly, it would wound him.

“Please,” Aziraphale swallowed. “I’ll buy you a drink. Several drinks. Anything you want.”

Crowley licked his lips. “Drink with me and I’ll consider.”

“I will,” the angel promised readily. Crowley grinned and slowly lifted his hand, raising a finger.

The crowd booed but Aziraphale looked relieved beyond belief. The miracle he directed towards the Editor of the game was very subtle, but it was effective.

The game was called to an end and Crowley’s life was to be spared, much to the displeasure of the audience.

“Meet me at the back,” Crowley told the angel as they turned to exit their respective doors, followed by the booing of the bloodthirsty people.

As soon as he got a moment alone, Crowley slipped into the shadows and miracled his appearance back to his normal persona. Nobody paid him any heed as he hung outside the colosseum and waited.

Aziraphale arrived soon enough, a bit nervous but glowing divine in the sun, as usual. Gone was the intensity of his gaze, but Crowley found that he also liked the open curiosity in his eyes. He led the angel to the little, rowdy place he’d come to enjoy.

He grinned at Aziraphale’s dismay as he took in the establishment. This was no tavern for the rich or the fancy - this was for the sailors, ruffians, and scoundrels. And Crowley loved it. In some ways it reminded him of the taverns in Sodom.

Aziraphale ordered them a pitcher of wine and Crowley guided him to a relatively secluded corner table. It was always available for him.

“Well, this certainly is…” the angel looked around, searching for words. “... it certainly _ is.” _

Crowley laughed. “The wine’s good.”

Aziraphale took a sip and shrugged.

“You still know how to fight,” Crowley remarked, then.

“Oh,” the angel set down his cup and smiled briefly. “I don’t think it’s something I can ever forget. It’s somewhere very deep in me.”

“Mm,” he bit his cheek. “A soldier of God, eh?”

“I suppose.”

“T’was good fun, though,” Crowley shrugged. “Maybe we should do that more often. You know, to keep up appearances.”

The angel snorted. “Questions would arise if neither of us ever got discorporated.”

Crowley inclined his head in agreement. 

Aziraphale fidgeted and tried to pretend like he wasn’t stealing glances at him, and Crowley knew he was about to say something uncomfortable.

“Crowley, about last time… with the children.”

Crowley groaned internally. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t need to talk about it. How many times over the millennia had they said hurtful things, or done hurtful things to each other? It didn’t matter. It was a part of the job. Crowley had thought about it enough already. 

“I wasn’t thinking straight, at the time,” the angel mumbled. “I know I said things that… what I mean to say, I know you didn’t plan the -”

“Let’s not,” Crowley sighed. “It’s fine. Really. You are who you are, and I’m who I am. Right? Moving on. So, what have you been up to?”

It didn’t take long for Aziraphale to forget about the less-than-ideal surroundings and relax. Crowley kept pouring the wine and the angel was happy to explain all the interesting things he’d seen in the world. Christianity was a topic both were familiar with by now, and there was much to discuss, there. He didn’t say anything of the bad things Crowley knew he’d witnessed, and that was fine. He wasn’t in the mood for moping, anyway. He was more than happy to watch the angel look so lively as he explained about the new developments in the area. Crowley in turn recounted his more light-hearted adventures and relished the angel’s badly hidden glee at the embarrassing things Crowley had seen some very high-up people do.

He wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not, but at some point Crowley realised, in his half-drunken stupor, that he was sitting shoulder to shoulder with the angel. He felt the warmth against him and noticed the angel’s hand resting on the table. The golden ring on his pinky finger glinted in the low light. His eyes fixated on it; the angel never removed it.

It was probably a poorly masked excuse, but suddenly it felt important to ask about it.

“What do you wear that for?” 

“Hm?”

Crowley ran his hand lightly along Aziraphale’s wrist until his fingers brushed against the cool gold. He swallowed as he felt the angel shiver - but neither pulled their hands away. Crowley smoothed the ring with the tip of his finger, imagining what would happen if he moved his caress on the angel’s knuckles, instead. He was drunk, but not too drunk to know that he was in dangerous waters.

“This ring,” Crowley hummed. “What’s it for?”

“It’s, um,” Aziraphale drew a shaky breath. “It’s just… a symbol for…”

Crowley moved his palm directly over the angel’s hand and they both stilled. What would happen if he just curled his fingers around that hand? What would the angel’s touch feel like? What would that hand feel like in his own, on his arm, on his neck, in his hair? He wasn’t one for pleading but he felt he might if he could just see those clear, intense eyes look at him with the same passion he’d seen during the fight. He felt the angel’s gaze on him and turned to meet his eyes.

“Don’t,” Aziraphale gasped quietly, eyes burning with something Crowley thought he remembered from Athens.

_ Please, please, please,  _ Crowley thought,  _ please don’t draw away. Please let me have this. I need this, I want this, please. _

“Don’t what?” Crowley said in a barely audible voice.

“Just…” Aziraphale drew a breath and looked away. Crowley mourned as the angel gently pulled his hand away. “It’s been humid for the season, hasn’t it?”

The change in subject was so jarring it felt like a punch to the jaw, and Crowley was stunned to silence.

Fine. Very well. Aziraphale didn’t want to think about it, obviously. The angel looked at him with eyes that screamed ‘please drop the subject,’ and Crowley knew if he pressed the matter he might lose the angel forever. He forced a casual shrug and took a sip of his wine.

“Eh, I remember it was the same last decade.”

They argued about weather, of all things, for a good while. Crowley swallowed his disappointment and had to accept that they were going to pretend the whole moment had never happened.

Fine. It was fine. So Aziraphale wasn’t into it. Maybe. It was  _ fine. _ Another time, perhaps. 

Crowley bit back his disappointment. It wasn’t about tempting the angel anymore. It wasn’t about proving a point or winning anything. He wanted it for himself and couldn’t stop himself from trying. He knew it was unrequited and selfish, but… he was a demon. Surely he was supposed to be selfish.  _ Surely.  _ And somewhere deep in his mind, Crowley dared to hope that perhaps Aziraphale would one day let him.

Despite the slightly awkward atmosphere, the evening turned out to be quite enjoyable. They drank, sobered up a bit, and drank again. Crowley made sure to keep a careful distance away from the angel whose warmth seemed to radiate towards him and beckon to him, and Aziraphale kept his hands firmly in his lap or around his tankard.

_ Another time,  _ Crowley promised himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladiators would raise a finger to call for mercy, and the battles were moderated by an Editor. That's probably the only historically accurate thing in this chapter. :D


	19. Burgundy, c. 450 AD - Death is only Temporary

Aziraphale stared at the men surrounding him, and deep down he knew this was it. There was no escape from this. Weapons aimed at him from all directions, the gleam of betrayal in the eyes of the men around him. 

He wondered if they would be merciful. If they would quickly discorporate him and be done with it. He sincerely hoped so.

He was not afraid of discorporation, not anymore. He’d seen enough death during his time on Earth that he would have felt like a hypocrite to be afraid when he’d spent so much of his time consoling the dying and assuring them of a wonderful afterlife. 

Who was he to fear death when he knew it wasn’t the end? Especially since he was sure he could come back. 

He did not want to discorporate, of course - he knew there would be  _ so much _ paperwork, and who knew how long it would take them to issue him with a new corporation.

What he did fear was pain. His experiences with it in the past had been thankfully few, but nevertheless harrowing. He remembered being attacked in Mesopotamia for the very first time. He remembered being hit in Memphis, and remembered very clearly the white hot pain of a blade sinking into him in Rome. He feared prolonged suffering and no matter how hard he tried to think that it was all part of the human experience, it made him shiver.

The leader of the assailants launched into a bitter monologue about how Aziraphale had betrayed them. Aziraphale felt the man’s heartbreak and fought back tears. He regretted the past few weeks. He’d only done what he must, but in order to do that he’d had to deceive.

He had never been good at deception and he was quite surprised he had lasted for as long as he had.

All he had needed to do was to pretend he was interested in becoming a part of this roaming gang of bandits terrorising the area, but all the while he had quietly worked in their ranks to sway them towards Heaven. He’d done his best to convince each one of them that maybe there were other options in life and perhaps they might try to find an honest living. 

In the end, it hadn’t taken too long for his cover to be blown and now he was accused of mutiny - rightly so, of course, since he had been trying to convince the men to leave and abandon the group.

He’d become oddly close with the leader. He was a young man, and Aziraphale had a suspicion he saw him as a father figure of sorts. Seeing the betrayal in the man’s eyes hurt him, too.

But there was so much anger in those young eyes now. He could see the man warring with himself. Anger and attachment battled in his gaze and Aziraphale could only hope there was some mercy left.

When the man finished his tirade, Aziraphale saw pain in his eyes and smiled sadly. Mercy had won.

A command was given. The arrow was placed, the bow was tensed. Aziraphale couldn’t prevent a gulp as he stared at the arrow pointed at him. Bows were… well, an arrow rarely meant instant death. It would have to be aimed just right, hit just right… he tried to quell his fear. He knew the man holding the bow. He was an excellent shot. He exhaled slowly to calm himself.

Aziraphale met the young leader’s eyes and tried to convey to him that it wasn’t the end, that he could still change the direction of his life, that he was a good lad, right before the arrow struck him.

It wasn’t instant, he discovered. The shock and pain floored him and he fell to the ground. His ears were ringing and it was hard to focus his eyes. He was vaguely aware of the arrow lodged in his chest. He watched the feet of the men and heard the leader say something before his body shut out everything unnecessary. He registered shouts, but could not make sense of them before life faded to black.

Crowley had followed Aziraphale’s scent to a remote corner of the land. He’d heard of the bandit group and wondered what had possessed the angel to travel with them. By all accounts, he wasn’t a prisoner. He’d decided to find out for himself.

He arrived at the scene too late. He saw Aziraphale standing there, surrounded, and before he had time to understand what was happening, an arrow pierced the angel straight through the heart.

Crowley watched in numb horror as Aziraphale fell and didn’t get up again. He was too far away to heal the wound, too far to do _ anything.  _ The scalding ice that invaded his body shook him.

He wasn’t quite sure what happened next. It was hard to remember it when he later tried. All he knew was that he was angry, so very  _ angry,  _ and all he wanted was to hurt someone. So he attacked the men. He supposed he looked a bit more demonic than usual, what with the way most of the men screamed and fled as he charged at them. Others stayed and Crowley fought with all his might.

A moderate bit of Hellfire might have been summoned at some point, he wasn’t sure. He might have been injured, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t care. All he could think was kill, avenge,  _ get to Aziraphale. _

In the end, Crowley stood there, bloodied and bruised, panting. There were two men dead at his feet, the ones who had stayed to fight.

He stared at the angel. He was laying there, eyes closed; he could almost have been mistaken to be sleeping if not for the arrow grotesquely jutting out of his chest. Blood had trickled through.

Crowley knelt beside him.

“Aziraphale,” he said in a quivering voice. 

He shook him by the shoulder. He knew, deep down, that it was of no use, but he wanted to believe. Wanted so badly to think it would be okay. He hesitantly brushed his fingers against the angel’s cheek and swallowed. Still warm, but not as warm as he should be.

He was too late. 

Crowley withdrew his hand and sat there, watching the angel for he didn’t know how long. He knew this was not Aziraphale. Aziraphale was already back in Heaven, probably pouting about not having any wine up there.

It’s just that Crowley had become so accustomed to this corporation being the one he called Aziraphale. This was familiar, this was Aziraphale, this was  _ his angel. _ And yet, it wasn’t. Not anymore.

It was an empty shell. 

Why was it so painful, then?

He screamed to the void.

He looked around. Scavengers would arrive, in some form or another. He didn’t care about the humans, but somehow it felt wrong to leave Aziraphale there.

Crowley knew Aziraphale was elsewhere now. But his corporation… he could not leave it like this. He had to do something.

He remembered how very early on, after the Great Flood, he had honestly wondered why Aziraphale had bothered to fish out corpses from the sea and bury them under mounds of rock. Now, looking at what had used to be his angel, he understood.

There were no rocks nearby and he had no means to dig a grave. But there was wood.

The sun had long since set when Crowley was done. He’d gathered the driest wood he could, twigs and leaves and whatnot, and built a little pedestal. A bed. He broke the arrow in the angel’s chest and carried him to his makeshift pedestal. He covered him from head to toe with the cloaks and cloth from the fallen men, and stood there for a moment.

He knew Aziraphale appreciated burial rites, but there was no chance Crowley was saying prayers or praising God in any way. 

He swallowed.

“Angel,” he said to nothing, “I know you can’t hear me. I know you’re not even here. But I guess… well, corporations return to the earth, don’t they? So will yours. Well, not literally. I can’t actually bury you - I mean your corporation. But I guess this will have to do. I don’t know why I’m doing this, it’s not like you can see it. A giant waste of time, really.”

He summoned a bit of fire in his fingers and ignited the wood. The unnatural flames spread quickly.

“Come back soon.”

Crowley sat there, his back towards the fire, until the flames died out.

Crowley sought for Aziraphale in the following years. He knew that Heaven wouldn’t let him come back instantly - it would take long to struggle through the bureaucracy alone.

He had time to feel very undemonic guilt following the angel’s discorporation. He knew that Aziraphale would have disapproved of killing those men. Crowley didn’t enjoy killing, but he’d been  _ so  _ angry, blinded by what had happened. He hoped the angel would understand, but quietly decided not to tell him if he could avoid it.

Still he kept searching. Every once in a while he stretched his senses to see if there was any trace of the angel on Earth. 

He feared that Aziraphale wouldn’t be allowed to return. Maybe Heaven was strict about these things, maybe it only took for one screw-up to be assigned new duties.

Even though he’d often spent even centuries not seeing the angel, this felt different. Before, there had always been the certainty that if he wanted to find Aziraphale, he could. Now, he was nowhere. He was lost to Crowley and he might not return.

Tempting wasn’t any fun when there was nobody to thwart him. Nobody to have drinks with. He spent time with humans, but they couldn’t compare - even though they were fun, none of them could relate to him.

After a good few years Crowley decided to sleep for a decade or a few. Perhaps Aziraphale would be there afterwards. What a relief it would be to wake up to the scent of his angel, of sunlight and vanilla. 

Aziraphale would rather have endured anything else but the paperwork, which he was tempted to call infernal. 

File a report on how you managed to lose your corporation. In three pieces. Deliver each to a different department. Discover you forgot to attach another form. Redo the report and attach the form. Discover you were supposed to sign it in three places instead of two. Redo it all again.

Wait for an eternity for a hearing. Spend this time doing nothing. Get called for the hearing. Explain the report all over again. Justify why you should be reinstated. Wait another eternity for the results.

Get called for a second hearing. Be asked the same things all over again. Get queued for a corporation. Again spend time doing nothing.

Aziraphale had spent so little time in Heaven of late that he had quite forgotten how boring it was. No drinks, no meals, no books. Just paperwork and boredom. Celestial harmonies the only entertainment. He was a bit disturbed by this - surely Heaven was the one place where he should feel at peace?

He tried to visit the human souls residing there, but he was told he didn’t have proper clearance to do that. Apparently you needed to fill out forms X, Y, and Z to be approved for the possible chance of visiting them.

Aziraphale couldn’t be bothered. He already had a corporation pending.

He thought he might visit some of his old friends, but then realised he didn’t really have any. The other angels had never become close. So instead, he spent his time avoiding Sandalphon’s smarminess. Mostly he just sat alone and thought about all the things he wanted to do when returning to Earth.

He wondered if Crowley would wonder where he was. Probably not. They’d gone centuries without seeing one another, he wouldn’t even notice. It made him a bit blue, but he brushed it aside. He shouldn’t be thinking of being friendly with demons while up in Heaven.

When Aziraphale finally set foot on Earth again, 40 or so years had passed. The first thing he did was draw a deep breath and savour the very human feel of  _ feeling  _ things - the air in his lungs, the wind in his hair, the ground under his feet. The heavy, comforting pull of gravity. Then he found a nice little tavern and enjoyed the best meal he’d ever had.

He’d been on Earth for a decade or so before he smelled brimstone in the air. He was sitting in a tavern with a tankard of very nice ale when a dark figure slid into the chair next to him.

“Crowley,” he smiled. The demon was up-to-date with modern fashion, as always, his hair longer than he’d seen it in a good while. Still with the dark shades and a sly smirk.

“Long time no see, angel,” Crowley drawled. Aziraphale raised a brow. He’d never been called ‘angel’ before - it was what he was, of course, but it was slightly strange coming from the demon. It seemed so impersonal, and yet it wasn’t said in a mocking way. “You haven’t been around.”

“Yes, well, I was…” Aziraphale shifted awkwardly. “Well, I happened to get discorporated, you see.”

Crowley looked at him with a nondescript expression for a while. It made Aziraphale squirm.

“Did you?” the demon took a sip of a drink Aziraphale hadn’t noticed him order. “About a time.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“What happened?” Crowley asked, expression still unmoving and tone oddly flat.

“Ah, it was…” Aziraphale waved his hand dismissively. He really didn’t want to say. It was embarrassing. Crowley would laugh. He had attempted to infiltrate and lie and it had backfired. Crowley was a master of that kind of thing, he would most definitely mock him. “Just a bit of a failed plan, really. I think an arrow did it, in the end.”

The demon made no sound and still kept staring. It was getting a bit disturbing.

“Did it hurt?”

Aziraphale blinked at him. “Not as much as you might imagine,” he replied, frowning at his memory and at the demon. He was getting uncomfortable. 

“No suffering…?”

“Why do you need to know?” Aziraphale felt hot shame coursing through his body. Wasn’t this enough information Crowley? Did he get some sick pleasure knowing whether he had discorporated in pain? “I suppose this is very amusing to you, but it wasn’t for me. So do keep your questions to yourself!”

Aziraphale was upset. Genuinely upset. Suddenly he found he could not bear to sit there and talk so glibly about the issue. He got up and left the tavern without any explanations, just walked out and sat down under an old oak nearby. He breathed out steadily and tried to calm down. He hadn’t thought about his discorporation in a good while, and the demon’s questions brought up painful memories. His failure, the hurt in the eyes of those who had trusted him, the physical sensation of an arrow piercing his heart. It was all a joke to Crowley and Aziraphale was angry with himself for assuming anything else.

To his surprise, Crowley followed him after a moment. Aziraphale got on his feet at once, refusing to have anything but equal ground. He stared at the demon defiantly.

“Do you need more?” Aziraphale demanded before Crowley had time to say a thing. “Do you want more details on my failure? More to make fun of?”

The demon stared at him with his mouth hanging open.”What in Satan’s name are you on about?” was the indignant reply.

“Why do you care? Why would you want to know about my suffering? Does my discorporation amuse you?”

Crowley was shaking his head slowly. “You are such an idiot,” he breathed incredulously. “You think I  _ want  _ to hear that you suffered?”

“Why else would a demon ask?” Aziraphale replied bitterly.

They stared at each other. The tension in the air was palpable. Something about Crowley’s countenance made Aziraphale’s resolve crumble a bit, and uncertainty began to take hold.

“Why  _ did  _ you ask?” he inquired quietly.

Crowley regarded him for a good while still, sucking his teeth as if weighing his answer, before replying. “We’ve talked about this before. Discorporation, I mean. Remember? You were wondering about it back in the day. I was just curious how it was, now that you’ve experienced it.”

Aziraphale could feel his body relaxing, bit by bit, as the tension diffused.

“Just curious?” he asked.

Crowley looked away and bit his cheek. “Yeah. Nothing more to it.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale lowered his eyes. He had forgotten that Crowley hadn’t, to his knowledge, ever been discorporated. It only made sense he would wonder. “Well… I’m sorry. I just haven’t thought about it in a good while, and… I suppose there are just things related to it that I haven’t truly processed.”

He sat back down on the ground, leaning against the sturdy tree. Crowley followed after a moment. He said nothing, but Aziraphale felt he owed him an explanation.

So he told Crowley the whole thing, how he’d tried to save the souls of the bandits and how he’d eventually failed. He spoke of the relationship he’d managed to forge with the leader and how badly his betrayal had doubtlessly hurt him.

“As for the discorporation,” Aziraphale sighed. “It was relatively quick. I don’t think I had time to comprehend it properly. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not something I would ever like to try again, but in the end… I did not suffer.”

Crowley nodded but didn’t look his way. “S’good.” Then, “And that was it? You don’t remember anything after that?”

“After that I remember Heaven,” Aziraphale shrugged. “It was fairly quick.”

“Hm.”

“I do hope the poor boys made something of their lives,” Aziraphale sighed. “They were all such good lads, at heart. If they got out of that lifestyle I’m sure they could have achieved great things.”

Crowley shifted next to him.

“I wonder how they turned out.”

“They’ll have died of old age by now,” Crowley said.

“Still,” Aziraphale looked at the grey sky. “I hope they were happy.”

The demon said nothing. Aziraphale was lost in his memories for a moment before he realised he’d not asked how Crowley had been. 

“What have you been up to while I’ve been gone?” he asked, turning to look at him. “Tempting and defiling?”

“Obviously,” Crowley grimaced mockingly. “That’s what I do. Defile is my middle name.”

“And what is your first name?” Aziraphale had to ask - if there was an actual answer, he was curious.

“What’s yours?” Crowley snorted. 

“I have just the one name.”

“Then what makes you think I have others?”

“Well, you can’t well be called  _ Defile Crowley,” _ Aziraphale sniffed, doing his best to contain his glee. “Sounds like an order, almost.”

“Oh, does it?” Crowley crossed his arms and looked at him over his glasses. “Wouldn’t you like that.”

“Oh, shush,” Aziraphale tutted; he put on his best disgruntled frown and looked away, desperately trying to prevent any colour rising to his cheeks.

“Anyway,” Crowley got up, slapping his knees. “Can I treat you to lunch?”

Aziraphale stared at the demon. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. 

“Well, perhaps this once,” he heard himself saying and went back to the tavern with Crowley.


	20. Disibodenberg, Prussia, c. 1100 AD

Crowley felt very demonic, prowling around the monastery in the dead of night, creeping in the shadows and trying to find a way in.

Not that he particularly wanted to get in. All those nuns and crucifixes, and probably plenty of consecrated areas… eurgh.

But he just needed to pop in, steal back a demonic tome the nuns were unwittingly hoarding, and pop out. Simple.

It’s just that the ‘popping in’ part was proving difficult. The gates had crosses on them, the walls were decorated with them, and there was holiness oozing out of every nook and cranny. It smelled disgustingly godly.

He’d watched the monastery for a day, a snake in the shades of the bushes. Nuns rarely wandered outside the gates, so all his ideas about maybe tempting one of them to bring the tome to him weren’t going to work. Besides, tempting a nun wasn’t a simple thing. They were too committed to God to sway easily or quickly.

So he prowled, but could find no way in. He returned to the main gate and grimaced at the cross. Whose bright idea had it been to imbue crosses with such holy power? Probably Gabriel’s - he’d been so wrapped up in the Christ business, had to be his doing, originally.

Crowley let out a long breath as he stared at the cross. There was no other way in. He might as well endure it.

He turned himself into a snake and slithered through the iron bars of the gate. As he passed under the cross, he felt it weighing him down; the holiness of the monastery lay on him like a blanket made of stone, stinging on his skin and stunting his miracles.

Thoroughly uncomfortable.

Once inside, he turned back into a human form and disguised himself in a nun’s outfit. The dark glasses probably looked a bit weird for anyone watching, but there wasn’t anyone around. All the nun were sleeping and he could walk about freely. The disguise still seemed like a good idea - if someone did happen to see him, they wouldn’t immediately be alarmed.

He looked around the courtyard. So many buildings and so many doors. Where did they keep their books? All the windows were dark save for one on the second floor of what he assumed were the nuns’ rooms. There was candlelight coming through and Crowley made a mental note to stay away from that area.

Although… if he could fool a nun into thinking he had just arrived as a new member of the convent, they might show him around. He really didn’t feel like spending any extra time in this place - the whole atmosphere prickled and stung - so a bit of mind control perhaps…

It was worth a shot. He could always transform and hide in the shadows if things went awry. He entered the cool hallways and bristled at all the crucifixes and iconography. None of them looked the least bit like Jesus, anyhow.

He slunk along the hallways quietly and tried to find the one lit room in the place. He passed several bleak, nameless doors until he saw soft light streaming from under one. He went through his backstory in his mind - abused wife, escaped, arrived in the dead of night, can’t sleep, show around? - and knocked on the door gently.

When the door opened Crowley was stunned to be staring at a very familiar pair of bright eyes.

“Aziraphale?!”’

“Crowley?” was the equally surprised reply. The angel poked his head through the door, looked both ways, and yanked him in.

“What are you doing here?” Aziraphale asked quietly, perhaps even a bit indignantly, as he shut the door behind them. Crowley couldn’t be bothered to answer. Only now did he realise Aziraphale was also presenting as female.

It was the first time ever Crowley had seen the angel as anything other than male. It was still Aziraphale, clear as day, but… a bit different. Even softer and gentler, but no less fussy. Crowley had almost forgotten angels could present as any gender, too - Aziraphale had stuck to his male form so much that Crowley hadn’t really thought there was another option.

He was dying to know whether the angel still kept his hair short under the habit.

“You’ve become a nun?” Crowley grinned. Aziraphale tutted.

“Why are you here?” the angel asked again.

“Why are  _ you  _ here?”

“This is a monastery, and I’m an angel,” Aziraphale replied as if it explained all. “You, however, are a demon, and this place is holy.”

“There’s something very unholy in here,” Crowley shrugged, crossing his arms and leaning on the angel’s plain desk. “I’ve come to do them all a favour and fetch it back.”

An alarmed look crossed Aziraphale’s face and he hid it poorly.

“There’s nothing unholy here except for you,” the angel huffed evasively and arranged his skirts. “Now, I suggest you leave before they notice you. I’ll have you know there’s an abundance of holy water, here.”

Crowley grimaced at this but wouldn’t back down. He could tell Aziraphale knew more than he let on, and Crowley wasn’t about to leave without the tome. It was needed somewhere where it could be put to work.

“Listen, I’ve come here for a job,” he replied. “I’m not leaving before it’s done.”

_ “I’m  _ here for a job,” Aziraphale pursed his lips. “And I rather think our interests are conflicting.”

Crowley chewed his cheek. The angel was probably right. He wondered if he could just get the tome and run before Aziraphale had a chance to put his hands on it. A fight was not something he was interested in.

“Where is it?” he asked. The angel stared at him warily.

“Where’s what?

“The thing. The unholy thing.”

“I’m staring at it.”

“Oh, ha ha,” Crowley rolled his eyes. “Where is it?”

“I’m not telling you anything,” Aziraphale turned away.

“Look,” Crowley huffed, “if I don’t take it, they’ll send someone else to get it. And I know certain demons who will torch this place afterwards, just for fun.”

“I can’t let you have it,” the angel sighed desperately, fixing his eyes on him again. “I can’t let Hell claim another artefact. I’m going to find it, and destroy it.”

“Do you even know what  _ it  _ is?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, but no words came out. The way he averted his eyes spoke volumes. He didn’t know.

“I know what I’m looking for,” Crowley said. “You don’t. Help me find it and take it, and the next time a similar situation happens, I’ll let you have the prize.”

The angel looked pained and warily curious, but soon his expression hardened and he straightened his shoulders defiantly. 

“I will not strike a deal with a demon.”

“Fine,” Crowley tutted - this same old game again, then. “We’re done here, in that case. May the best man - or woman - win.”

He didn’t bother to wait for an answer before he escaped the room. Aziraphale was being stupid. Fair enough. He didn’t need help from an angel, anyway - he’d survived on his own for millennia, and finding one blasted tome was barely a problem.

It’s just that he absolutely detested spending time in the convent. Everything was so holy that it physically hurt. Crosses everywhere, prayers wafting in the air like a thick miasma. Disgusting. He hurried along the corridors, eyes scanning the rooms from behind his dark glasses. He needed to find something like a library, or a warehouse - something where humans were likely to keep books. He hoped some hapless nun hadn’t taken the tome into her rooms, because that would just make things unnecessarily difficult.

He found a little library, but none of the books there had the right feel. Bibles, half-finished copies of them, religious stuff. He cursed and left the room. In the entry hall, he willed himself to stop and closed his eyes. He could do this. He was a demon, surely he could pinpoint the only other unholy thing in the whole place if he focused.

He couldn’t.

He tried to stretch his consciousness and sense the tome, but there was so much  _ God  _ in the building that it drowned out everything else. It even drowned out Aziraphale when Crowley tried to pick out his scent in the air.

He swore silently and kept searching. After what seemed like far too long he came across a chapel. He hovered at the doorstep, already feeling severely uncomfortable being so close. Consecrated ground. A massive cross on the altar. A door leading to a backroom…

“Satan help me,” Crowley muttered under his breath, braced himself, and stepped over the threshold. He couldn’t help the hiss and curse that escaped his lips as the floor burned his feet through his shoes. He skipped and jumped, trying to cover the length of the room with touching the floor as little as possible. He practically ran to the wooden door at the other end and was relieved to find it unlocked; what’s more, the burning eased as he passed through it.

There was a set of stairs leading down, surprisingly, and as he descended the stone steps he found himself in a little warehouse of sorts. The nuns kept the altar equipment there - some Bibles again and a few modest cups and things, more crucifixes… and a large, dark tome on a little table.

“There you are,” Crowley mumbled and picked it up. The cover was unassuming but he felt Hell pushing through the pages as he opened the book and flipped through the pages. If the nuns knew what it was, they clearly thought keeping it hidden under the chapel was the safest option - and if they didn’t know what it was, they seemed to assume it was somehow holy. Crowley scoffed and tucked the tome under his arm. He went back up and braced himself for a sprint across the chapel once more.

He hadn’t been prepared to see anyone waiting for him, but as he opened the door he was met with the wide, surprised eyes of an elderly nun. She was kneeling at the pew, holding a crucifix; Crowley had interrupted her in mid-prayer.

They stared at one another for a brief moment before the nun’s eyes flickered to the tome, then back at Crowley. She got on her feet slowly and stepped out of the row of pews. Crowley did his very best to stay still, but the floor burned and he had to keep shifting weight from foot to foot.

“Can I help you?” the nun asked seemingly politely, but there was obvious suspicion in her voice.

“Just came here to… pray,” Crowley replied and knew he wasn’t convincing in the least. This place was far, far too holy - his miracles were ineffective and his persuasion would not work here. He was glad of his glasses, because in this blessed place he could not veil his eyes.

“I don’t think I know you,” the nun narrowed her eyes. 

“I’m new,” Crowley replied through gritted teeth. Sweet Satan, the floor burned. “A lost lamb, you know.”

“Please be so kind as to hand that book to me.”

The nun’s eyes were insistent and so incredibly suspicious. Crowley clenched his jaw. His feet were in agony, the weight of the holy was crushing, and the nun was blocking his way.

“Or,” Crowley said, “what if I just get out of here?”

“Please do,” she nodded without a trace of humour in her. Crowley could tell she suspected he wasn’t quite what he seemed. With the tome, he was probably radiating evil or something. “Just leave the book behind.”

“Come on,” Crowley groaned. “You don’t need it. It’s not good for you.”

The burning was becoming unbearable, so Crowley did the only reasonable thing he could think of and brushed past the woman, shoving her aside on his mad dash towards the door - unfortunately, however, Aziraphale entered and once again Crowley’s path was blocked. He actually snarled at the angel.

“Sister Aziraphale!” the elderly nun called. “Stop her!”

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale muttered quietly. “Don’t be a fool. Hand me the book.”

“Out of my way,” Crowley growled and hopped awkwardly in his place, knowing it looked incredibly undignified.

“Give me the book,” Aziraphale repeated more loudly. “You can’t win this one.”

Crowley opened his mouth to argue, but was completely caught off-guard by a sudden, sharp strike on his head. He lost his already precarious balance and tumbled into the pews, dropping the tome in the process. 

He hissed and snarled as the floor burned his knees and his hand; he noticed the nun standing nearby with an iron candle bar in her hand like a mace, and in the same moment Aziraphale snatched the book from the floor.

Crowley scrambled back on his feet and saw the angel clutching the tome against his chest. The nun gasped in horror.

“Devil!”

Crowley realised he’d lost his glasses and his eyes were now unveiled, plain for her to see.

He knew he’d lost the game the moment the nun raised her crucifix at him, and decided none of this was worth it. He glared once at Aziraphale before rushing past him and fleeing the monastery as fast as he could.

Aziraphale watched Crowley escape and stood still, holding the book which felt cold and menacing under his fingers. He wanted nothing more than to put it down, but he would not let it out of his sight.

“I shall raise an alarm,” the Abbess said in a shaken voice. “We must bless the entryways and pray for God to guard us against the Devil.”

“A good idea,” Aziraphale mumbled. “I’ll… I’ll return the book.”

“Make sure you do, and join us in the courtyard.”

With that, the Abbess left to wake the sisters.

Aziraphale had no intention to return the book. He hid it in the ether and made a mental note to dispose of the tome as soon as possible - he hadn’t forgotten what effect Hellish and cursed items had on him. 

The nuns were roused and confused, but soon they were all praying while some were sprinkling holy water everywhere. Aziraphale joined them for a moment, but his heart was heavy; he couldn’t stay with them anymore. They’d know he’d taken the book. His work here was done. Come morning, he needed to be gone.

He wished his favourite sisters good night with more warmth than usual before retiring to his room and gathering his meagre possessions. In the dead of the night he went to the chapel, stood before the basin of holy water, and placed the tome in it. 

The water sizzled and the book shrivelled, fell apart until it was gone. Scraps of it were left behind but he cleaned it up in a miracle. A sense of calm washed over him as the water was again clear.

Aziraphale left the monastery in silence. He’d have to report back for this, he knew - but first he felt he needed to do something.

He walked to a little batch of trees and bushes nearby. He sensed Crowley if he focused, and soon saw a little black snake curled on a branch.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked. The snake watched him with yellow, impassive eyes. “That looked uncomfortable, at the chapel. I can’t quite believe the Abbess hit you like that.”

The snake made no reply.

“She’s got some fire in her,” Aziraphale chuckled. “Anyway… The book is gone. I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you. No - I’m not sorry for that, of course not. I shouldn’t be. I did the right thing.”

He fidgeted a bit. Crowley wouldn’t acknowledge him at all, but he felt compelled to keep talking.

“What I  _ am  _ sorry for is… well. I’m sorry you were hurt. But I did warn you. I’m just glad the Abbess didn’t think to use holy water. She might have, after she saw your…” his sentence trailed off. He felt like he wasn’t making anything better.

“It was good to see you, Crowley, oddly enough,” he chuckled nervously. “I know it didn’t seem like it, and I didn’t think it was, at first, but… I suppose you’re the only thing on Earth that’s constant for me. Might as well try to be civil, don’t you think?”

He looked at the snake who still said nothing. He felt his cheeks burning a bit and figured he might have said a bit too much. Crowley wasn’t letting any feeling show, but then again, snakes weren’t very expressive, anyway.

“Well, then,” Aziraphale drew a sharp breath. “I’ll be going now. I’ll… see you around. I always keep seeing you around. There at every corner, ready to thwart.” His joke fell a bit flat. He wasn’t very good at that, anyway. “Good night, Crowley.”

With one last glance at the snake he turned and walked away. He thought he heard a hissing  _ see you _ on the wind, but that might have just been the breeze in the grass.


	21. France, c. 1220 AD - A Holiday

Crowley had come to the conclusion that it didn’t really matter what he did on Earth. Head Office never bothered to check in on him. Over the millennia, he’d taken credit for a lot of things he’d had nothing to do with. It required so little effort that it wasn’t even funny.

Hell trusted him to do his job, and he did - to a point. If he was specifically given orders he’d follow them, but other than that… he didn’t really bother if he didn’t feel like it. He’d much rather do what he wanted and enjoy humanity in all its glorious ways.

He’d also decided that he needed to do something about Aziraphale. It seemed like every time they met there was a strain, some tension between them that he couldn’t place, and often it wasn’t of the good kind. The angel probably had all sorts of conflicting ideas about their relationship. They needed to sort them out because Crowley was done with their every conversation ending in a bitter quarrel.

Besides, he needed to convince the angel of the simple fact that it would really be beneficial for them to start working together. He could name so many different instances where they’d both been sent to the same place for work, and had ended up negating each other. Neither side lost or won, so it was just a waste of time all around. It would only make sense to share the work and save everyone the effort. Previously Aziraphale had vehemently refused, but Crowley was determined to make that change.

Crowley had planned a holiday. It was a novel, ridiculous idea, but he needed to try it. There was a little abandoned cottage on the coast which he’d miracled into a livable thing. He’d stocked up food. The weather was warm. He’d even gone and found a very decent manuscript with equipment for copying it, if any book-loving celestial being were to be so inclined.

Convincing Aziraphale to come along was not as difficult as he had feared. It definitely helped that the angel had just finished a grueling mission among some very stubborn, argumentative people who had - according to his words - rather have poked spears in their own behinds than seen their neighbours thrive. Therefore he was already in need of a break. Crowley softened him up further by treating him to dinner and talking about the latest developments in writing.

The angel’s first response was, of course,  _ no. _ Luckily, Crowley had some experience with convincing, tempting, and suggesting.

“Come on,” he crooned, pouring the angel some more wine. It was truly a masterful strategy. “Why not?”

“Do you even have to ask?” Aziraphale huffed. “An angel and a demon, spending time together…”

“And what are we doing now?”

“This is different,” Aziraphale pursed his lips. “We’re here because we happened to meet.”

_ Yeah, keep believing that, _ Crowley thought and resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  _ Coincidental, obviously. _

“Whereas your idea,” the angel continued, “would put us in a situation where we  _ voluntarily  _ decide to spend time together.”

“And?”

“And!” Aziraphale almost spilled his drink in his huff. “If Head Office found out… just the accidental meetings alone would be difficult to explain, let alone a… holiday.”

He lowered his voice and eyed the tavern suspiciously, as if expecting heavenly spies jumping out at any minute.

“Nobody will know,” Crowley argued. “Downstairs never bothers to check up, anyway. Does Upstairs?”

Aziraphale mumbled something incomprehensible into his goblet, which was an answer in itself.

“Come on, angel,” Crowley drawled, watching him over his shades. Aziraphale did his best to avoid his eyes. “They won’t know. And besides, this is for work.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, we keep running into one another. Better come up with basic rules for such situations. It’s a business trip.”

“You make no sense.”

“But I do!” Crowley grinned. “We should really discuss how to deal with work-related stuff. What better way than to dedicate a week or so for it?”

“You have ulterior motives,” Aziraphale frowned suspiciously. “Is this just a ploy to convince me to the arrangement you suggested? Because my answer is still no.”

“Ah, you know demons always have ulterior motives,” Crowley spread his arms. “But since your resolve is unbreakable, it hardly matters, eh? Come on. What do you say? In all honesty, we’ve both earned a break, anyway. Toiling away here with not so much as a clap on the shoulder from Head Office.”

Aziraphale stared at nothing, goblet raised halfway. Crowley could see he was considering it. 

“Come on, angel,” he prodded softly. “I promise it’s going to be good for you.”

Aziraphale looked at him. “Why do you call me that?”

“What?”

“Angel.”

“It’s what you are, isn’t it?” Crowley deflected the question. “Now, are you coming or not?”

Aziraphale watched him hesitantly for a moment before letting out a sigh. “Fine, I suppose it’ll be alright. Lead the way.”

“It certainly is… rustic,” Aziraphale commented as they arrived at the cottage. 

“Hey, it’s got walls and a pantry, doesn’t it?” Crowley entered the cottage and the angel followed in his steps. “What more do you need?”

Aziraphale hummed nondescriptly as he took in the interior of the place. Crowley was oddly nervous - he’d really done his best to decorate it. He’d put up little tapestries, even collected some seashells to adorn the windows. There wasn’t much space or much of anything, really - a table and two chairs, a chest, a fireplace, a little kitchen, and an adjacent room with two beds. Crowley knew neither of them needed to sleep, but… who knew. He still had his hopes.

Aziraphale inspected the sturdy oven while Crowley fidgeted nearby. He was surprisingly nervous and wanted the angel to like it. He decided to help matters by fetching one of the wine jugs and pouring them both a generous portion.

“Oh, thank you,” Aziraphale’s eyes lit up as he was offered the drink. He took a sip and inclined his head approvingly.

“So,” the angel looked at him with raised brows. “You wanted to discuss work?”

“Yeees,” Crowley tapped his fingers against his goblet. He wanted Aziraphale to relax a little - if this was going to be all work, Crowley would gauge his own eyes out by the evening. “But first, better get acquainted with the surroundings! Come along.” He gulped down his wine and breezed outside. Aziraphale sputtered something behind him, but soon ran after him with the goblet still in his hand.

“Where are we going?” the angel huffed as he caught up. Crowley grinned to himself. He found immense pleasure in the fact that the angel had followed him so readily. 

“The beach!” was what he replied. Aziraphale looked around, brows creased.

“We  _ are  _ on the beach, Crowley,” he tutted. “The cottage is on the beach. I can see the beach. I  _ am  _ on the beach as we speak.”

Crowley waved his hand dismissively and led him towards the shoreline. “No you’re not. To experience the beach, you need to feel the beach.”

He removed his shoes, hopping awkwardly onwards at the same time. The gravelly sand was cool and prickly under his bare feet. He looked at the angel expectantly.

“You can’t be serious,” Aziraphale looked appalled. “It’s only May, the water must be freezing!”

“You won’t know until you try,” Crowley smirked and walked backwards closer and closer to the water. When his feet met wet sand and the sea brushed against his ankles he suppressed a yelp. It really was rather chilly. Nevertheless, he was determined to lure the angel in, so he kept the carefree smile on his lips.

“Come on, angel! This is a very human thing to do.”

“I have never seen a human willingly wade into cold water without a very good reason,” Aziraphale muttered. “I don’t see the point.”

Crowley let out a deep sigh, one he always reserved specifically for Aziraphale.

“Either you get in the water, or I hide the rest of the wine.”

The angel pursed his lips and pouted. He huffed in annoyance, finished his drink, and begrudgingly took off his own shoes which he placed neatly on the sand. He walked to the waterline and stopped right before it.

Crowley waded a bit deeper, coaxing the angel along. He didn’t really have a plan other than to do something nonsensical with the angel, something to take his thoughts away from work and Heaven and whatnot, and force him to relax. Aziraphale closed his eyes and let out a breath. Crowley grinned widely as he took a step into the water - except the angel did not walk into the water, but  _ onto  _ it.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Crowley exclaimed as the angel walked neatly on the waves.

“Hm?” Aziraphale raised a brow serenely, hands behind his back and a smug smile on his lips.

“Oh, don’t you try to play innocent! I said get  _ in  _ the water, not  _ on  _ it!”

“I must have missed that part,” the angel shrugged and walked further away from the shore.

Crowley watched his retreating back and couldn’t stop the widest grin from spreading across his face. Aziraphale was infuriating. And he loved it. Loved him. But he wasn’t going to let this slide. He splashed water directly towards the angel, catching him on the back.

Aziraphale spun around, a shocked expression on his face.

“Oops,” Crowley crossed his arms. “Clumsy me.”

“You…!”

Crowley laughed. Without caring that the water really was rather cold, he waded deeper as quickly as he could until he was waist deep and able to catch the angel by the ankle. Aziraphale tried to scutter away but wasn’t fast enough - he lost his balance and plunged straight into the cold water, momentarily entirely submerged.

As he emerged from the water, sputtering and gasping, all Crowley could do was laugh. 

“Oh, you- Heavens it’s cold!” the angel breathed.

“Come on, it’s barely-”

But Crowley couldn’t finish the thought before a crash of water hit him directly in the face. Once he regained his composure and wiped the water from his eyes, he saw Aziraphale watching him with smug vindication.

“Bastard,” Crowley grinned. He got a raised brow as a reply.

“It really is rather cold, isn’t it?” Aziraphale said, then, and Crowley couldn’t argue. He wasn’t good with cold anyway, and this was starting to get on the verge of uncomfortable. He shrugged and they waded back to the shore, clothes heavy and dripping.

“Look at the state of things,” the angel complained as they were firmly back on the dry sand.

“Hmm, yes,” Crowley smirked as a wicked thought struck him. “I suppose the only way to manage is to remove it all and huddle up for warmth, eh?”

Aziraphale gave him a withering stare and snapped his fingers. Crowley was surprised to feel the water leave his person and his clothes until he looked and felt as if he’d never been to the water at all.  _ Oh, well,  _ he thought, _ worth a shot. Although... _

“What about you?” Crowley eyed the angel from head to toe. “You’re still soaked. And what with that ‘no miracles for myself’ crap, I guess you’ll have to get out of those, and…”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers again, drying himself in an instant.

“I see,” Crowley tutted. “What happened to your miracle policy?”

“This barely counts,” the angel replied and put on his shoes. Crowley grinned as he followed him inside. “I wouldn’t be opposed to a warm fire, though.”

Crowley couldn’t have agreed more. Soon there was a crackling fire in the hearth and they were sitting by it comfortably. Aziraphale was wrapped in blankets for good measure, munching on buttered bread, miraculously fresh and soft. Night had darkened outside and the wind had picked up, wailing in the cracks and corners. Crowley lay on the soft fur rug by the fire, limbs spread and staring at the ceiling. He could hear the waves crashing ashore. He glanced at Aziraphale, sitting nearby in his blanket fort.

It was almost sickeningly domestic. He should have hated it with vengeance, but he found he didn’t. This was something he thought he could get used to. Spending time with his angel, just… being there.

Aziraphale still looked at him funny every time he called him angel. He hadn’t questioned it since they arrived, and Crowley wasn’t about to explain his inner workings. The explanation he had given would have to do. Aziraphale didn’t need to know more. He already assumed the worst of Crowley, there was no need to give him more fodder.

The fact was that Crowley just desperately wanted to get closer. He’d noticed, over the many centuries, that humans gave each other nicknames. Pet names. Friends would call one another something else entirely, lovers whispered sappy endearments into one another’s ears. Crowley wanted to be a part of that, even if he was the only one who knew.

He’d thought about a nickname for Aziraphale, but shortening or altering his name in any way made him bristle. The name was perfect as it was and if he was going to use it, it had to be whole. The kind of names the humans called each other didn’t really fit in his mouth, either, and endearments would have been too suspicious. Aziraphale would most likely have thought he was just mocking him.

_ Angel, _ however, had a nice ring to it. It was what Aziraphale was, of course. And yet, after calling him by his name for millenia, calling him  _ angel  _ felt somehow more intimate than it should have. 

Besides, Crowley had a plan. He was going to make  _ angel  _ a term of endearment for humans - all it would take would be a century or so of careful hints and suggestions into young couples’ ears, and he was sure the word would stick. And then it would be a word meant for lovers. It was also a tad blasphemous and Heaven would probably have a fit about it. An added bonus. And Crowley could still call Aziraphale angel, because he’d come up with it first, and how could he possibly have known how humans would start using it… very inconspicuous.

Crowley stared at the ceiling and sucked his teeth. What a pathetic, sad plan. But he was committed to it.

He glanced at Aziraphale again and briefly wondered what would happen if he just told the angel how he felt. He cringed as he imagined the conversation.

_ Hey, angel. I’ve fallen in love with you. _

_ Crowley, don’t be ridiculous. _

_ I’m serious! _

_ Please. Demons are incapable of love.  _

_ But I actually… _

_ Stop trying to deceive me! I’m not a fool. You can’t love me, and I will never love you. We’re on opposite sides. _

Crowley sucked his teeth and returned his gaze to the ceiling. Aziraphale was a being of love, that much he knew, but he could never love a demon the way Crowley wanted him to. The angel might have loved every creature on this Earth like a father loves his children, but romantic love for a demon? A laughable idea. Only, Crowley wasn’t amused. It meant he had to keep on existing with his cursed feelings and never find solace in them. He’d tried to ignore it, had actively tried to stop feeling like this, but in vain. Athens had been the final nail in the coffin, but he’d fallen much, much earlier.

The best case scenario would be to stay friendly with the angel through the ages, maybe try a few temptations every now and again to test the waters. All he could really hope for were moments like this where he could pretend he could actually have this for eternity. 

All he could hope for.

They spent the night listening to the wind and quietly talking about the various storms they had witnessed over the years.

The next day Crowley presented the angel with the manuscript he’d acquired. Aziraphale was visibly excited as he took the leather-bound book carefully in his hands. He spent most of the day perusing the pages while Crowley walked outside, planning on how to broach the subject of the Arrangement so that the angel wouldn’t immediately shoot him down.

They had dinner in candle light and Aziraphale gushed about the manuscript and thanked Crowley profusely for finding it. Crowley decided to let the Arrangement be for the day - he was more than content listening to his angel’s voice through the night.

“Do you remember the 300s in Constantinople,” Crowley asked when they were walking along the shore the next day. “Did you know that one Emperor’s son? What’s his name, the one with the mole?”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Aziraphale shuddered. “What a ghastly person he was.”

“Hm, went Downstairs in the end, I think,” Crowley replied. “But do you remember what happened? You’d been there, doing your best to convince him that he shouldn’t follow in his father’s footsteps. And then I get there the day after and try to convince him of the exact opposite.”

“What?” Aziraphale frowned. “You were there, too? I had no idea!”

“Well, I was, “Crowley shrugged. “He told me about someone suspiciously like you who’d just visited him. Anyway, I did my best to convince him to  _ follow  _ in his father’s footsteps.”

“Are you saying you undid all my hard work?” the angel looked almost insulted.

“I wish!” Crowley barked. “You’d done your job well, and I did mine well. So all in all… after I was done, he was back in square one.”

“So…”

“So, in the end neither of our efforts mattered and he did what he wanted, anyway.”

He watched Aziraphale mull the words over.

“Well, we both did what we could.”

“We both wasted our time,” Crowley huffed and tossed a pebble into the sea. “Remember the whole knight debacle?”

“The what?”

“You know, you were fomenting peace and I was doing the opposite. We were negating each other. Again, time wasted.”

“I wouldn’t consider thwarting a demon a waste of time,” Aziraphale stated.

“Yeah, but you weren’t  _ actually  _ thwarting me. You were doing your thing and I was doing mine. In the end, the whole bloody area wasn’t swayed either way, so neither side actually won.”

“Crowley, I will not have this conversation again,” the angel sighed. “You know working together is a preposterous idea.”

“Is it really?” Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Memphis. 1100s BC. Ahmes and his torture chamber.”

Aziraphale averted his gaze. “That’s not…”

“We brought that bastard down together,” Crowley hissed. “I would never have interfered without you, and you couldn’t have made it without me.”

The angel said nothing. They walked on slowly.

“But what you’re suggesting,” Aziraphale breathed after a while, “is… well, it would mean either turning a blind eye to evil, or actively assisting in it. I can’t do that. And I doubt you would willingly help Heaven, either.”

Crowley sucked his teeth but said nothing. They spent the rest of the day reminiscing about happier times in history, but Crowley was not going to let the matter go. The angel had considered it, he could tell, and he would wear him out yet.

The next day Crowley was determined to get his point across. He paced the room and was in the process of hatching a plan when he heard Aziraphale shout his name outside. There was a certain panicked tone to it that made Crowley run out of the house and to the beach, ready to fight off whatever it was that threatened his angel.

Aziraphale was already walking on water, hurrying towards the waves.

“What is it?” Crowley called, confused.

“A man!” Aziraphale replied. “There’s a man in the water!”

Crowley squinted at the waves and noticed that there was indeed a man floating there, a good distance from the shore. He was tempted to call it a corpse, really, but refrained from doing so. The angel was so keen on saving him that he figured he should at least wait until the body was dragged ashore before declaring him deceased.

He watched from the shore as Aziraphale reached the man and took a hold of his arms, quickly dragging him to the beach. The angel laid him down on his back. Crowley looked at him and noticed he hadn’t been in the water for long - he still looked rather fresh. No hungry fish had got to him. Still, he wasn’t breathing, and the likelihood of him being alive was slim.

“He’s probably-” he began, but Aziraphale was already kneeling beside him, a hand on his heart.

“A pulse!” the angel exclaimed. With a miracle, Aziraphale drew the water from the man’s lungs and gave his heart some extra strength. It wasn’t long before the man drew a gasping, rasping breath and lay there, wide-eyed and scared, but very much alive.

He was perhaps nearing his thirties, but looked quite ravaged. There were tears in his clothing and cuts on his hands and face. A stubble of many days adorned his chin and the bags under his eyes told of a restless life.

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale calmed the man who was now panting and trying to sit up. The angel helped him and Crowley felt a calming blessing tingle in the air. The man’s breathing evened out and he eyed them suspiciously.

“What is your name?” the angel asked.

“Giraud,” the man breathed. He did not give any further names or titles.

“Nice to meet you, Giraud,” Aziraphale smiled. “Please, come join us inside. We’ll get a fire going to warm you.”

Crowley wasn’t too pleased with this stranger coming to interfere with their vacation, but knew better than to argue. He sauntered after the angel who was supporting the man all the way to the cottage.

Inside, Aziraphale planted the man into a chair and brought him food and drink. Meanwhile Crowley pretended to struggle with the fire before simply finishing the charade with a miracle.

“Thank you,” Giraud said as he ate some of the bread offered to him. “You are most kind, sirs.”

“Don’t mention it,” Aziraphale beamed. “How lucky we noticed you.”

“What were you doing in the sea, anyway?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale glanced at him disapprovingly, but he didn’t care. There were questions that needed answers, and patience wasn’t any virtue of his.

Giraud glanced at Crowley warily, but relaxed when Aziraphale nodded encouragingly. Crowley rolled his eyes. Humans would do anything for the angel for just one kind smile - but to be fair, so would he.

“I come from a little village in Anjou,” Giraud began. “My family was poor, and I lost them all some years ago. Since then, I’ve been travelling the country, finding whatever work I can… it’s not been easy, but I make do. Then, not many months ago, I became a messenger. I delivered whatever notes were given to me, until I realised some of them were… unsavoury. Criminal, even. I refused any further communication. That did not sit well with the people I worked for, and… well, I can’t really remember. I was attacked, beaten… the next thing I remember was waking up on this shore.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at this story, which went thankfully unnoticed by both Giraud and Aziraphale. The angel was full of compassion, as usual, but Crowley thought the whole sob story felt a bit fake. 

“You can rest with us for a while,” Aziraphale promised him kindly and ignored Crowley’s grimace behind Giraud’s back. “Gather your strength for a while.”

“Thank you, Monsieur...?”

“Aziraphale. And Crowley.”

“English?” Giraud narrowed his eyes, trying to place the names. Aziraphale nodded quickly in agreement, and the human seemed to buy this. “Do you live here?”

“We’re just staying for a while,” the angel replied. “Please, consider yourself at home.”

“Could I talk to you for a minute,  _ monsieur  _ Aziraphale?” Crowley said, raising his brows as high as they would go. The angel smiled at the human, excusing himself, and got up. He followed Crowley outside.

Crowley waited until the door was firmly shut and they had walked a good distance away before turning to face his angel.

_ “Consider yourself at home?” _ Crowley repeated incredulously. “Are you out of your mind?”

“He’s been through a lot!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “We can’t just turn him away! He needs to gather his strength before we can let him leave.”

“Oh, how wonderful,” Crowley hissed. “And where are you going to keep him?”

“He’s not a pet,” the angel rolled his eyes. “Besides, we have room. We don’t use the bedroom, anyway, he can-”

“How are you going to explain to him why we don’t need the beds, or why  _ we  _ don’t sleep?”

Aziraphale blinked. “Well, I…” he looked away, frowning, but Crowley wasn’t letting him off the hook. He kept staring until the angel came up with an answer.

“Fine, maybe he can sleep in the common room, then,” Aziraphale sighed. “We keep our cover, and… I suppose the rug by the hearth is soft enough. Crowley, I cannot let him wander into the wild on his own yet. He’s so weak.”

“One night,” Crowley clenched his teeth. “He can stay one night. Tomorrow, he’s out of here.”

Aziraphale beamed at him and Crowley hated how easily he had caved. They returned to the house and to Giraud, who was sitting by the fire warming himself and drying his clothes.

Crowley spent the rest of the day sulking in a corner while Aziraphale listened to Giraud’s life story. The man seemed to have been born into hardship, lived in hardship, and known nothing but suffering all his life. He told of lost loves, dead family, dead loves, war and famine. Aziraphale listened keenly and offered him far too much consolation for Crowley’s taste. 

Giraud kept thanking the angel for all his kindness and even tried to resist when Aziraphale offered him a place for the night. The angel would hear none of it, and apologised how they didn’t have a bed for him. Giraud was endlessly grateful for a blanket by the fire. They finally wished one another good night, and Crowley withdrew into the bedroom with Aziraphale.

It would’ve been exciting, being forced to spend the night in a small room with the angel, had Crowley not been so sour about the human and how easily Aziraphale trusted him. 

Aziraphale lit a candle and sat down on the other bed. He looked up at Crowley whose mind was immediately flooded with all kinds of thoughts and scenarios - he would have wanted nothing more than to go over, kiss his angel, lay him down on the bed, and…

He shook his head and flopped down on the other bed instead, staring at the ceiling with his hands behind his head.

“So…” Aziraphale said quietly. “I suppose we wait for dawn, now.”

“Yup,” Crowley huffed. “You should try sleeping. Going to be a long night, otherwise.”

“I don’t sleep,” the angel mumbled and got up. Crowley watched him peer out of the window into the night. “The moon is up.”

“Great.”

“Are you angry with me?” Aziraphale asked, fidgeting with his golden ring and looking his way worriedly. “I know how you feel about poor Giraud, but…”

“It’s fine,” Crowley sighed through his teeth. “Poor Giraud will be gone in the morning.”

“No need to sound so ominous about it,” Aziraphale huffed and came back to his bed, sitting down gingerly. Crowley grinned to himself. 

“I won’t lay a finger on him, promise,” he chuckled. Aziraphale tutted, but said nothing. Crowley closed his eyes and tried to ignore the fact that the room was very small, that Aziraphale was sitting right there, on a very nice bed, that the intoxicating scent of sunlight and vanilla permeated every pore of his being, that they had nothing to do… that this was the kind of scenario he’d imagined over and over on many a lonely night. 

He wanted so many things. His angel was so close, yet so incredibly far. He wanted to have, to hold, to kiss and caress; he wanted to know his angel more intimately than neither of them knew any other. He desperately wanted to run his fingers in the fluffy curls, wanted to hold him close and make him forget about everything else, wanted to be the centre of the angel’s existence. He wanted to show Aziraphale how much he cared, how much he wanted, and he wanted to hear the angel sigh his name into his ear in a moment of passion -

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered and Crowley almost discorporated right there and then. His eyes flew open and he fixed them on the angel, still sitting on his own bed. 

“What,” he croaked, mouth suddenly dry and a hot rush coursing through his body when he realised where his mind had gone while the angel was right there in the room with him.

“I’m rather bored,” Aziraphale huffed. “I left the manuscript in the other room.”

“There’s not enough light here to read, anyway,” Crowley replied while doing his best to rid himself of the wonderful images his mind had conjured up for him.

“I know,” the angel sighed. 

Crowley sucked his teeth. He couldn’t handle the whole night with the angel, not like this, not when his own mind was doing its best to torment him. He didn’t want to sleep, either, because he didn’t trust Giraud - or himself. He sighed and sat up in his bed, leaning against the wall.

“Let’s talk, then,” he said. Aziraphale perked up at once. Crowley cast a miracle to prevent their voices from being heard outside of the room, and to prevent anything from entering. There was no way he could survive Aziraphale whispering his name again that night.

Crowley figured this was as good a time as any to work towards the Arrangement. He didn’t go straight to the point but rather began the discussion by recalling ancient events. The angel was happy to recount parts of history, whether the memories were common or not. Every time they talked about the past, there was always something new to tell.

They spent a few hours reminiscing about their favourite cities, arguing about which one was actually the best, and generally having a good time.

“Do you remember Disibodenberg?” Crowley asked after a comfortable lull in the conversation. “With the nuns and that tome?”

“Of course,” the angel hummed. “That was barely a century ago.”

“And do you remember Damascus and the cursed dagger, 1000 BC or so?”

The angel shuddered. “I do.”

“Both those times there was an item that we wanted to retrieve,” Crowley said. “Like the tome. You wanted to get it out of the nuns’ hands, and I wanted the same.”

Aziraphale merely hummed in agreement, clearly a bit wary already. Crowley went on:

“The end result would’ve been the same no matter which of us got it. It would have been taken from the nuns and they’d have continued their lives - better off without it. Right?”

“Yes, but…”

“Imagine,” Crowley interrupted, “if we’d discussed it beforehand. Instead of us both being there and fighting over it, one of us could have gone in, gotten it, and it would have been done. No hassle, no trouble… no unnecessary violence. The same end result.”

“Weren’t you supposed to bring the book back to Head Office?” Aziraphale frowned. Crowley scoffed.

“Eh, those things are rarely as important as they make them seem. In the end I told them a nasty angel got his hands on it anyway, and made up a story of how we fought about it bitterly. They bought it, and that was that.”

Aziraphale averted his eyes and said nothing.

“We could skip the fighting and competing altogether,” Crowley said softly, eyes boring into the side of the angel’s head. “We could share the work. Think… instead of wading knee-deep in some blasted mire trying to get to some sodding hut to bless a cow, you could sit comfortably in a tavern with a pint and a pie.”

The angel still wouldn’t say anything or look his way.

“I’m not saying we’d share  _ all  _ of the work,” Crowley continued, still with his softest tempting voice. “Just, you know, if we both happen to have a mission in the same area. It’s so futile for us both to be there, trying to hinder one another, and in the end nobody gets the credit.”

“You know it’s not right,” Aziraphale mumbled, frowning at his hands, clasped in his lap. “We’re an angel, and a demon. We’re not supposed to make deals like that.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not supposed to have vacations in a French cottage, either,” Crowley shrugged. “We’re not supposed to go drinking and talk whenever we meet. We’re not supposed to trade news. Not supposed to heal each other’s wounds… And yet, here we are.”

Aziraphale hazarded a look his way, and his eyes were anxious. 

“Think how much bother we could save,” Crowley asked in a low voice, holding the angel’s gaze. “I wouldn’t ever ask you to do anything too bad, you know. Just tiny little temptations. And I’d do tiny little blessings for you.”

“But if they find out…”

“They won’t,” Crowley argued with new vigour; he could tell the angel was considering it. “They never check what we do. All they care about is that the job gets done. Come on, just… try it once? To see how it goes.”

Aziraphale looked at him for a good while, eyes fixed on his and a crease between his brows. Then, he sighed and averted his eyes.

“I…” he began, but then frowned and looked around the room. “Do you smell smoke?”

Crowley sniffed and there was no mistaking it - the smell of smoke was obvious. He glanced at the door and saw a faint fiery glow shining under it.

“Bloody Giraud!” he snarled and jumped out of bed. He yanked the door open and was greeted by a lively fire right in the middle of the room. Flames were already climbing up the walls on one side of the room, and the rugs and blankets had been gathered as a little wall blocking the way from the bedroom to the rest of the house. It was full in flame.

Crowley cursed even as Aziraphale appeared by his side, gazing at the scene in horror.

“How did we not notice…?” he breathed.

“Nnh,” Crowley bit his cheek. His miracle might have been a bit too effective in blocking out  _ everything. _ However, there was another matter far more pressing, and that was the fact that this fire was very deliberate. “Come on,” Crowley grunted and began to leave - that bastard Giraud would pay for this…

“Crowley!” Aziraphale grabbed his arm and stopped him. “The house is on fire!”

“So?” Crowley frowned. “A little fire can’t hurt me. One of the perks of being a demon. Come on.” 

He kicked his way through the flaming blankets and pulled Aziraphale with him when the path was clear. Regular fire could burn him, sure, but it would take a lot more than this to even singe him. He moved quickly through the room, diverting flames with his hand whenever they got too close. Aziraphale stuck close to him until they were safely out in the cool night air. The whole beach was lit by the firelight pouring out of the windows and doors. 

Aziraphale looked at the house mournfully and wrung his hands. “How do we stop this? There’s no buckets, nothing…”

Crowley had more urgent issues on his mind, namely finding Giraud. He scanned the surroundings wildly, but Giraud had a headstart. He wasn’t going to give up, though, and looked around in the sand. The man’s footprints were plainly visible, and Crowley wasted no time sprinting their direction.

“Crowley!” he could hear the angel calling him but ignored him. He was angry. The bastard had used Aziraphale’s goodwill to his advantage, and then betrayed him without so much as a thought. The attempted murder was a real cherry on the cake. Crowley was going to make him regret his choices of the past few hours. 

Luckily for him, Giraud was still not perfectly recovered from his near-death experience. It didn’t take long for Crowley to spot him in the wild, carrying a bag over his shoulder and slowly trudging on. Crowley snarled, which the man apparently heard as he turned to look and terror took over his features. 

Giraud ran, but was no match for an angry demon. Soon Crowley was on him; he tackled the man to the ground and was prepared to show him what true fear looked like, but hadn’t expected sharp pain in his side.

For a moment he was confused before he realised Giraud had stolen a knife from their kitchen, and it was now neatly plunged into him.

Crowley hissed with all the demonic venom he could muster and let his malice leak out into the air. He didn’t even have to do more for Giraud to begin screaming in absolute terror. How he hated this human, this worthless, useless, treacherous being, and he was going to -

“Crowley! Stop!” Aziraphale’s voice rang desperate in the night and Crowley halted. He turned to look, still pinning Giraud firmly to the ground, and saw the angel hurrying towards them.

“Please, don’t - just - Crowley,” Aziraphale panted as he arrived on the scene.

“But this bastard -” Crowley tried to argue.

“Please,” the angel pleaded, eyes pained. With a growl, Crowley got off from the now whimpering man and proceeded to pull out the knife from his body. Aziraphale’s eyes were wide with shock at this, but Crowley miracled the wound away quickly. 

The angel swallowed and Crowley saw his eyes harden as he turned to look at the man. He saw such hurt and betrayal in them that he rather wanted to shove the knife into Giraud in turn.

Aziraphale knelt beside the human and laid a hand on his shoulder. The man stopped whimpering at once, and looked at the angel with wide, fearful eyes.

“Why,” was all the angel said. His voice was calm, kind - but the compassion was no longer there.

“I’m sorry,” Giraud exclaimed. “I’m- it’s all I know to do! It’s all I’ve ever done!”

It was no excuse, in Crowley’s opinion, but Aziraphale waited patiently as the man regained his senses.

“I was in a party of highwaymen,” Giraud explained. “They betrayed me. It’s the life I know. It’s who I am.”

“Do you regret your deeds?” Aziraphale asked softly.

Giraud swallowed, held captive by the angel’s eyes. Tears began to well in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

Crowley hissed at the answer and Giraud glanced at him in absolute terror. Aziraphale drew his eyes back on himself with nothing but a touch.

“You must mend your ways,” the angel said as he pulled the man on his feet. “For your immortal soul.”

Giraud trembled. Crowley knew the human could feel, somewhere deep in his subconscious, that he was faced with a being older than time itself, someone whose mere thought could smite him to dust. Aziraphale was so unassuming, generally, but what Giraud saw in those eyes must have been very unearthly indeed.

The angel let go of him and stepped back. “I forgive you,” he said calmly, causing a tear to run down the human’s cheek, “but I cannot help your soul if you do not help yourself.”

Giraud stared, frozen in place and trembling like a leaf. 

“Go now,” Aziraphale whispered. “Do no harm.”

It seemed as if the human was suddenly released from a spell; he turned on his heels and ran into the woods, not looking back once. 

Aziraphale stood there, watching after him for a while before turning to Crowley. His eyes flitted to where the knife had just been lodged.

“S’fine,” Crowley shrugged. “Barely a wound.” He knelt next to the bag Giraud had dropped and rummaged through it. There wasn’t much - all the meagre cutlery they had was in there, along with a jug of wine and at least half of their pantry. The man had taken anything remotely valuable, including the manuscript Aziraphale had become fond of.

“Safe from the fire, at least,” Crowley hummed as he presented the book to the angel. Aziraphale took it and hugged it against his chest, eyes widening in realisation.

“The fire!”

They hurried back to the beach and knew already from afar that it was no use running. The whole cottage was in flames, lighting up the beach and the black sea like a torch.

“Well,” Crowley sighed, sitting down on the sand. “I suppose this vacation was coming to a close, anyway.”

Aziraphale sat down next to him, still clutching the book. They watched the flames consume the building.

“I’m sorry,” the angel said quietly as a part of the roof collapsed. It sent sparks flying up high in the air. “I know you didn’t want to take him in. But I just… I could not have left him on his own.”

“I know,” Crowley hummed. “He was a bastard, but I know. It’s always a gamble with them, isn’t it?”

“With who?”

“Humans. You never know what you get. They might be flawless little lambs of God, or terrible monsters out to get you.”

“Unlike with demons and angels?” Aziraphale replied. Crowley raised a brow at him. “Are you saying you always know what you’re going to get with them?”

“No,” Crowley hummed. “I suppose not.”

“We’re all individuals,” the angel mumbled, watching the flames. “While we might be inherently on one side or another… there is no single box we fit into.”

Crowley watched him and smiled. 

“No indeed,” he murmured. “But maybe don’t chat up other demons. I swear most of them are nowhere near as charming as me.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I wouldn’t dream of it. One demon is quite enough for me.”

It shouldn’t have made Crowley feel special, but it did.

“Have you thought about what I said?” he asked, then. “About the Arrangement.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I have. And I suppose… maybe it’s worth a try.”

Crowley’s heart leapt. 

“But just once!” the angel hurried to say, looking at him and pursing his lips in that determined way Crowley had often seen him do. “After that… we’ll see.”

Crowley grinned. “Agreed.”

They spent the night watching the cottage burn, and when the flames finally died down and all that was left was ruins and ash, they returned to England and promised to meet up in the near future for the first go at the Arrangement.

Crowley hadn’t been this happy in a while.


	22. England, 1290s AD - Summoning Fools

After a few decades, Aziraphale had to admit that his and Crowley’s Arrangement was working quite well. The first temptation he’d had to do had been tough - he’d been morally against it and thus it had taken him a lot of humming and hawing before he’d gone ahead with it. It had been awkward for all parties involved, he was sure, as he had been very insecure about it all; in the end, it had worked just fine and the deed had been done.

He didn’t know that the repercussions of this temptation were, but found he didn’t particularly want to know, either. It had seemed harmless enough, which worried him. After the temptation he’d gone ahead and done his blessing in the same area.

He’d had drinks with Crowley later to recount the events. The demon had seemed appreciative, and soon they’d discovered that they both had a mission in roughly the same area again. Crowley said he’d go, and when the time came Aziraphale fretted while waiting for the report back. When Crowley returned, he said everything had gone according to plan.

Aziraphale had intended to cut it short, but Crowley had been right: it was convenient to share the workload. And so they’d continued, and these days they didn’t need to report back and let the other know how it had gone. There was a strange trust between them, and both knew the other would let them know if something had not gone according to plan.

Aziraphale wished, as he trudged in the rain in his chainmail, that this was one of the cases where he could have sent Crowley in his place. But no, the demon hadn’t said anything about being in this area of England, and anyway this was more of a check-in mission than an actual blessing.

There was a group of humans living in a far off corner of the land. Aziraphale had met them a decade or so ago, and seen they were devout in their faith in God but veering a bit off from what he would have called  _ normal. _ He’d removed a netsful of snakes from their land, and done it too easily, apparently - in hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have led the snakes away in a row like a mother duck. Thus, the humans had latched onto him as God’s favoured soldier. True, of course, but slightly strange.

They revered him and Aziraphale had tried to make the most of it. He’d guided them towards healthier forms of worship; they’d been inclined to harm themselves physically to reach God, be it by starving themselves, or by whipping themselves. Aziraphale had put a stop to that quite quickly, telling them that God did not need them to be in pain and that kindness towards the fellow man, and opposing evil, were enough.

Aziraphale still felt quite uneasy about the lot so he frequently kept in touch with them. He often wrote them letters about kindness and love and encouraged them to do good in the world. He’d visited them once after the first time, about five years ago, and had been pleased to find they had stopped harming themselves, but a bit disturbed to see that they had replaced it with fanatic praying until their voices were hoarse and their knees bruised from kneeling for hours and hours on end. Aziraphale had told them then that God wanted them to take care of their bodies so that they would have the energy to oppose evil should it come their way.

He could already make out the shape of their house in the drizzle. If only they lived somewhere closer to actual roads, but no. Ascetic lifestyle had been their aim from the start. When he finally arrived at the house and knocked on the door, he frowned. There was something slightly off about the feel of the place, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was.

The door cracked open and the thin face of Osbert greeted him. 

“Master Aziraphale!” the man exclaimed excitedly. “How wonderful to see you! Do enter!”

Aziraphale greeted him warmly and stepped inside, discreetly miracling away the water from his inner clothing, leaving the chainmail and top layers damp to not appear suspicious.

“How are you, dear fellow?” Aziraphale smiled. Osbert had aged beyond his years and Aziraphale had a suspicion he might have gone back to the more harsh forms of worship. He’d always been one of the more fanatic ones.

“Couldn’t be better,” Osbert smiled. “We have great news!”

“Indeed?”

“Master Aziraphale!” another voice rang in the room and Aziraphale saw a man striding towards him, a wide smile on his face and a feverish glint in his eyes. “How good to see you!”

“And you too, Eustace,” Aziraphale nodded. “I trust you are well?”

“Very well indeed!” Eustace beamed. “Did brother Osbert already tell you?”

“He said you have great news…?”

“We do!” Osbert nodded excitedly. “Master - we have caught a vile servant of Satan.”

Aziraphale’s eyes flitted between the two men. They both looked a bit deranged, now that he observed them more closely. His heart sank. What madness had they chosen to follow this time?

“Have you?”

“We attempted to summon an angel of the Lord, master,” Eustace explained. Aziraphale was immediately on his guard. Summoning anything was never good, and summoning an angel was not even possible, to his knowledge. And besides…

“Why were you trying to summon someone?”

“Receiving orders directly from God’s angel would surely be the greatest grace!” Osbert breathed ecstatically. “But no matter how much we prayed, none appeared for us. So we studied, and found that one could summon a being from another world.”

“I see,” Aziraphale blinked. This was bad. “And how did that work out?”

“We did not manage to summon an angel, sadly,” Eustace shook his head in disappointment. “But we did summon something, a vile demon! We have it trapped and are trying to pray for God to smite it.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale sighed. “Can you show me?”

“Of course!” Eustace nodded eagerly. “Perhaps you, who are in God’s favour, can end him!”

Aziraphale said nothing and followed the men to the stairs leading to a small basement they had. As they descended, he could indeed smell a demonic presence, though oddly distorted and… _ oh, no. _

The scene that unfolded before his eyes required all of his might not to sigh and groan. The brothers, eleven of them now altogether, were gathered in a circle in the middle of the room. They were all on their knees, praying and calling for God. And in the middle of them there was a summoning circle they’d drawn on the floor, surrounded by candles, and in the middle of it all stood Crowley.

The demon raised his brows as he saw him but made no remark. Aziraphale stared at him for a while, probably as wide-eyed as Crowley was. He didn’t seem hurt or harmed, but the twitch of his fingers was a clear sign of discomfort. He wasn’t wearing his glasses.

“Behold, master!” Eustace cried and motioned to Crowley. “A vile demon!”

“Ah, yes,” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “How long have you had him here?”

“We’ve been praying without a pause for three days,” Osbert replied, already back on his knees and feverishly praying away.

“It’s felt like three centuries if you ask me,” Crowley muttered. 

“Quiet, fiend!” Eustace barked at him. Crowley rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, tapping his foot impatiently on the floor.

“Are you quite sure he is a demon?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Look at his evil eyes, master!” Eustace pointed to Crowley’s face. “Also, he admitted it.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips as he met Crowley’s gaze. The demon shrugged.  _ What a mess. _

“What exactly are you trying to do, now?” Aziraphale asked Eustace, glancing at the praying brothers. 

“We will vanquish him,” the man replied. “Praying has been ineffective, but brother William has gone to make some holy water. We shall douse him in it!”

That was a worrying thought, and Crowley bristled visibly. Aziraphale was getting quite concerned, now - the brothers had somehow managed to summon a demon, proceeded to have an idea how to deal with him, and were determined to rid the world of him. He wasn’t sure if they knew how to make holy water, but the chance was there, and it was concerning.

Aziraphale stepped closer to Crowley.

“Careful, master!” Eustace warned him.

Aziraphale pretended to examine Crowley carefully, circling around him in the same way Crowley often circled around him. 

“I don’t think this is a demon at all,” Aziraphale declared.

“But he confessed!” Eustace exclaimed.

“His eyes…!” Osbert piped up.

“And he can’t cross the circle,” Eustace motioned towards the drawing on the floor.

“Yes, it does  _ seem  _ like he’s a demon,” Aziraphale said calmly. “But Lord’s servants come in many forms. You attempted to summon an angel, did you not?”

“Yes,” Eustace frowned. 

“So, how can you be sure he’s  _ not  _ an angel?”

“He said if he is not freed he will kill us all with hellfire!”

“Did he, now,” Aziraphale rubbed his temple and glanced at Crowley, who grimaced and gave him a half-hearted shrug. “Still! He  _ might  _ be an angel...”

Hurried steps from the stairs alerted them to the arrival of brother William, carrying a bowl full of water.

“We can find out for sure, now,” Eustace said. “Bring forth the holy water!”

Aziraphale noticed how worry flashed in Crowley’s eyes.

“Ah, hand that to me, dear William,” Aziraphale hastened to say and took the bowl from the man. “Must make sure it’s properly made.”

Aziraphale dipped his fingers into the clear water and hoped they had messed it up. He felt the water curl around his fingers and warm his essence - it felt like home. He swallowed. He looked up and met Crowley’s eyes. There was nothing he could do to assure him differently - this water was holy.

He needed to think fast. Needed to bluff.

“I’m sorry, William,” Aziraphale turned to the man. “This does not feel right at all. Not holy enough.”

Aziraphale held onto the bowl even as William’s face fell. Eustace approached him.

“Could we not try it, anyway?” he asked. “Brother William has worked hard on it, and I’m sure it’s got at least some holiness in it - enough to show us the true nature of this being, at least.”

Aziraphale couldn’t argue with that logic, but was going to try anyway.

“Defective holy water is an affront to God,” he said. “Besides, he is no demon.”

Aziraphale could sense the humans were starting to doubt him. In their eyes, he was a devout soldier of God, the purest knight, and he should have been the first to test someone with holy water. What a moment to consider independent thought. These people were truly his cross to bear.

William grabbed the bowl back in a quick movement, spilling some of it on the floor.

“Look, now...” Aziraphale tried to get the bowl back even as fear gripped him. He could not allow any of this to get on Crowley. William dodged his grasp.

“We will try it on him,” Eustace stated darkly. “Brother William, please do the honours.”

Eustace actually grabbed Aziraphale’s arm to prevent him from interfering. Crowley was obviously anxious now and watched William and the bowl carefully.

“Will you stop it?” Aziraphale called. “You’re not… he’s not… just stop!”

“Go ahead, brother,” Eustace boomed. William bit his lip as he approached Crowley, the bowl ready. Crowley hissed some very rude words through his teeth, making the few more sensitive brothers gasp in horror.

Aziraphale’s head was buzzing. He needed to do something, fast. He could not bear to see Crowley destroyed by these hapless people, could not bear to think of a world without his demon friend. William was too close already. Crowley tried backing away as far as the circle allowed him.

There was only one thing that would convince these fools. Aziraphale closed his eyes and then a blinding light filled the room. 

The praying brothers stopped, William turned around and spilt all of the water on himself, and Eustace fell on his knees. Crowley grimaced and squinted at the light, blinking furiously after the initial flash of brightness.

Aziraphale let out a measured breath as he stretched his wings across the room, reaching almost wall to wall. It felt so strange to have them out like this; he couldn’t remember a time since Eden when he’d summoned them from the ether. The divinity that he let shine illuminated the room and clearly stung in Crowley’s eyes, and while the demon squinted at him, he didn’t look away.

“Children of God,” Aziraphale said, his voice echoing, “you have been misled. Please, let go this creature, for he is not what you seek.”

Eustace was on his knees in front of him, staring at him in awe.

“What does the Lord command?” the man gasped.

“To let this man go,” Aziraphale repeated and was proud of the way he managed not to roll his eyes at the question. “And never attempt a summoning again, for it is ungodly and an abomination.”

Eustace and the others grovelled, begging for forgiveness at Aziraphale’s feet. He stepped past them carefully, quietly miracling away the holy water on the floor, and walked over to Crowley.

“How do I let you out?” he whispered. Crowley stared into his eyes and opened and closed his mouth a few times before any words were formed.

“Just… break the circle,” he mumbled.

“Oh.” Aziraphale rubbed at the circle with his foot, effectively breaking it. Crowley sighed in relief as he was freed. He glared at the humans with venom, but Aziraphale demanded his attention.

“Go outside, I’ll meet you there,” he said. Crowley snarled at the humans who had tormented him for days, but thankfully did as he was told. The humans paid him no heed as he went, and instead kneeled in front of Aziraphale.

He sighed mentally. This was a mess, a huge mess. He’d have to do his best to fix it.

“Children of God,” he said, his voice captivating each and every one of the humans. “You are loyal, and you are true. I ask you one thing.”

“Yes! Anything, ask us anything,” the men grovelled in rapture.

“I ask you to live your life in peace,” Aziraphale began. “Take care of yourselves and of each other, and do good when you can. Worship the Lord peacefully, and never try summoning again. If you live by these rules, I might yet return to you.”

“Oh, yes, we shall do as you say!” they cried.

“Good,” Aziraphale said. He didn’t quite know how to end this. “Now… uh… thou shalt clean up this cursed circle and sleepeth until dawn. Lord’s grace be with thee always.”

With that, he slowly backed away until he was at the stairs. Once out of sight, he hid his glow and tucked away his wings, hurrying up and out of the house.

It was drizzling outside and the sun had gone down. He saw Crowley waiting for him by a large tree at the edge of the woods and made a beeline directly to him. 

“What a mess,” Aziraphale moaned as he reached the trees and leant against the same tree. “I’m going to have so much to explain to Head Office… displaying divine light like that…”

“It was impressive,” Crowley said, eyes firmly on him. “Saved me from… you know.”

Aziraphale faced him with a serious look. “Are you alright?” he asked gently. “Three days in that summoning circle…”

“It’s fine,” Crowley said. “It was mostly annoying. Who are those people? They’re insane!”

“Oh, don’t get me started,” Aziraphale sighed. “They are very devout… in all the wrong ways.”

“I have half a mind to pay them a visit…”

“Please don’t!” Aziraphale pleaded and actually grabbed his shoulder. “I made sure they won’t try it again. They’re just… misguided.”

“Fine,” Crowley muttered. “Anyway. It’s good you came along. I don’t know if they managed to actually make holy water…”

“They did.”

Crowley swallowed. “Yeah. So. You know. I… owe you dinner.”

Aziraphale smiled. “No taverns for miles.”

“Better start walking, then.”

Crowley had rarely been so thankful of a tavern with a warm fire and plenty of food and drink as he was when they arrived at a town, having trudged along empty wilderness for hours in cold drizzle.

For three days he’d been stuck in that damned circle, listening to the nonstop chanting of those buffoons. It was enough to drive anyone mad. They’d had no idea what they were doing, and thought that prayer alone would somehow incinerate him.

It hadn’t, of course. It hadn’t made him feel any better, but it hadn’t been killing him. The circle had been a bother, a constant strain on his consciousness, but again, it hadn’t been killing him. The men hadn’t even tried to make him do their bidding - clearly they’d had no idea it was an option. The moment they had seen his eyes they’d cried demon, and began their obnoxious praying. 

Three damned days. 

He’d almost laughed in relief when he’d seen Aziraphale, but had managed to stay cool.

They sat in a quiet corner table. Aziraphale finished his meal with a content sigh. Crowley had been throwing what he hoped were subtle glances his way the whole time. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Aziraphale, not after everything. He could still remember the stunning glow, the divine light, and the angel had appeared so beautiful and unattainable that it had made him ache and long even more. 

Aziraphale had saved his life. His very existence had been in the angel’s hands, and he’d pulled through. How could he ever make the angel understand how much it all meant? No words could ever express it, nothing he said would sound honest enough.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured after a while, a frown clouding his features. “I happened to come over by coincidence. I had no idea they had you. If I hadn’t come… could you have saved yourself?”

Crowley took a long gulp of his wine and watched worry grow in his angel’s eyes.

“I spent three days in that circle,” he replied in a low voice. “I did not care for them at all. If I could have escaped by any means, I would have.”

Aziraphale gasped and Crowley thought there was a glint of tears in his eyes.

“Oh, Crowley…”

“I mean, maybe I could’ve found a way,” he hastened to correct himself. Lies, all lies. He just didn’t want to upset his angel. “I suppose I could’ve scared William to drop the water, or trick one of them to break the circle. When you think about it, I was basically at the verge of escape…”

Aziraphale’s look told him he didn’t believe a single word. Just as well - Crowley had tried to trick and convince them at first, but their stubborn devoutness had thwarted him. Once they’d seen his eyes, they’d panicked and made up their mind, and nothing could change it.

“How did you end up there?” the angel whispered. “How did they manage? I mean, they are so…”

“... incompetent? Yes,” Crowley snorted. “They got lucky. They had the basics down but messed up all the details and by sheer luck ended up with me.”

“But how?” Aziraphale frowned. “If anyone can summon you, that is… well, that is quite bad for you, isn’t it?”

“Nah,” Crowley took a swig. “See, they did a very general summoning. Basically they were trying to evoke anyone at all. So, they could’ve ended up with an imp, or some other demon. The way it works is, whoever is nearest gets pulled in. Lucky me.”

Aziraphale looked like he was trying to make sense of it all.

“If they wanted to summon me specifically,” Crowley continued, “they would need a whole lot more than a shoddily drawn circle and a few incantations. They’d need to know my name. They’d need to know who they were summoning.”

They sat in silence once more. Crowley didn’t want to admit it, but he was a bit harrowed by the whole experience. He’d never been summoned before by any mortal. Now that he’d experienced it, he didn’t want to try it again. He’d been powerless in the circle, and the brothers could have ended his existence then and there.

“Usually what happens is,” Crowley thought aloud, “that when a demon is summoned, they’re commanded to do something. Or answer some questions. Usually, though, the summoners meant to evoke a demon in the first place, unlike those idiots. So in that sense, there’s not much danger involved. Anyone actually trying to summon a demon isn’t doing it to kill them.”

“That’s good, I suppose,” Aziraphale murmured. “But I’d still don’t like that the chance exists.”

Crowley watched the angel who was staring at his drink, a worried frown still on his face. His heart swelled. Aziraphale was worried for him. He almost didn’t dare to believe it. 

“Look, don’t worry about it,” Crowley swallowed. “Demons always manage. I always manage. So. You know.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed and didn’t look reassured. “The world is dangerous in ways I never imagined. Please tell me if there’s anything I can do. I do worry, you know.”

Crowley wanted to say so many things and ask so many more things, but couldn’t. His heart swelled and his mouth ran dry. All he could do was incline his head in a way he hoped seemed cool and collected. Aziraphale gave him a smile but the worry wasn’t gone from his face.

“It’ll be fine,” Crowley mumbled into his drink, not really sure what he meant - but Aziraphale didn’t ask, and they sat the night away together drinking and talking, with the world ignoring their very existence.


	23. England, c. 1340 - Pestilence's Masterwork

A dreary, heavy day, mud everywhere, fog everywhere, silence hanging over the land. People, begging and crying. An endless stream of ragged, sickly people heading for the church, carrying their children, their siblings, their parents - their corpses. Many falling down and never getting up.

Bodies were unceremoniously wheeled in carts and dumped into large mass graves. The air hung still, and the land smelled of death.

Pestilence’s masterwork.

Aziraphale walked through the town in a haze. He had walked, nonstop, for days on end. He knew he shouldn't need rest, but his feet were heavy and his mind was beginning to get clouded. The suffering was endless, it was all over the place, it consumed him whole and struck him from every angle.

And there was nothing he could do except ease the pain of others.

That’s what he’d been doing for days - weeks, months? Time had become irrelevant. There seemed to be no end to this plague.

He walked among the suffering, dressed in his white monk’s robes, dirtied by mud and filth at the hem, his dark cloak dragging behind him. People were drawn to him, drawn to God in their misery; nothing helped, so desperate faith was their last chance. And even that did not cure them. But Aziraphale, dressed as a man of God, walked among them and eased their pain, miracled the suffering away to give them a brief moment of calm before death claimed them. 

He walked along the muddy streets, stopping by every person. People held out their babies to him and he placed his hand over their heads; he wanted to heal them, but this was in the Plan. He could not fight this. 

Aziraphale wasn’t healing: he was giving them the last rites they so desperately wanted. He was miracling away their pain, so that they could die in peace.

He walked on as if he had no other purpose left in life. A blessing here, a miracle there, pain lifted, and held within his heart. It felt like collecting pain, in a way - every cry, every miserable look from the people struck him somewhere deep and he couldn’t shake off the immense weight of all these people dying under his watch. Because it was meant to be so. Because it was in the Plan.

Time didn’t exist. Location didn’t matter. He walked, he blessed, and did it over and over and over. Surely it would end, some day. Surely the disease would fade, surely the people would run out.  _ Something. _

After giving the last rites to a man who was a bare husk of his former, robust self, Aziraphale looked up to the sky. Grey. Much like the world. Was anyone up there watching? Did anyone care? Why would the others not come down, why would they not help? He shivered at his disappointment and silently apologised to Her. He felt eyes on him and turned to look towards the graveyard nearby, past the poor souls slowly making their way to the church, and saw a familiar dark figure sitting on a low stone fence.

Crowley.

Aziraphale headed towards him. The demon was like a beacon calling to him - something different to break the aching monotony of existence.

Aziraphale sat down next to gim, a measured distance away. He bowed his head, weighed by what his beautiful world had become. There were no words either could say, nothing that would make it better. 

Suddenly Aziraphale felt Crowley’s hand on his - just a couple of fingers brushing against his. It was so little, but yet so meaningful. Aziraphale swallowed. He knew it was not right. He should not allow it. Despite everything, despite the Arrangement, they were enemies. He knew he should pull away, but… it was comforting. It was grounding. A part of him longed to take that hand fully into his, to hold on and feel like something in this world still meant something.

They sat there like that until darkness had fallen, until the moon had creeped upon the sky. 

“You look tired,” Crowley spoke. Aziraphale blinked. They’d been silent for so long that the sound of the demon’s voice seemed strange.

“You know we can’t tire.”

“Yes we can,” Crowley argued. He withdrew his hand and Aziraphale felt bereaved. “Well, corporations can. I’ve never seen you this worn. Come on.” The demon got up and stood next to him expectantly.

“What?”

“I have a place,” Crowley said. “Or, well, it’s  _ a  _ place. You need rest.”

The demon was insistent and Aziraphale found he had no will to resist. Perhaps he was indeed tired. It was a novel thing and he was almost sure it couldn’t be real, but his corporation had never felt so weary and heavy. He got on his feet with a sigh and followed Crowley through the streets.

Crowley led him into a building and up the stairs until they reached a set of rooms. Aziraphale was sure this was someone’s home - or had been someone’s home before the world had turned dark. Crowley closed the door behind them and lit a candle or a few.

“There’s a bed,” the demon pointed to the corner. “You should use it.”

“I don’t…”

“You don’t sleep, yeah I know,” Crowley huffed. “Maybe you should give it a try. It’s really quite nice. Makes you forget about the world for a while. You look like you could use that right now.”

The idea was very tempting. Aziraphale had spent millennia awake, occasionally losing himself in scribing, meditating or reading to distract himself from the state of the world. Sleeping had always seemed so slothful, but…

Crowley eyed him and snapped his fingers. The mud and grime disappeared from his clothes and skin. The demon motioned towards the bed, which - by miracle - looked much softer and more comfortable than was common for this town.

“Just lie down and close your eyes,” Crowley suggested. “That’s all. Try not to think. I’ll be here and I promise I’ll alert you at once if anyone comes asking.”

Aziraphale stood still and weighed the matter. He had never felt like this - exhaustion wasn’t wholly unfamiliar to his corporation, but the weariness of the mind was new. 

“Angel,” Crowley said softly, “rest.”

Aziraphale let out a breath and sat down on the bed. Crowley watched him until he lifted his legs on the bed as well and rested his head on the pillows. He sighed at the sensation of soft bedding underneath him, and the way his corporation melded into it. It felt like this was what his body had been waiting for the whole time, for a chance to let go and relax.

Weariness unlike any other took a hold of him as soon as he’d laid down. He closed his eyes.

“I’ll wake you at dawn,” Crowley’s voice murmured somewhere nearby and filled his heart with warmth. Drifting off and the nothingness that followed was bliss.

Aziraphale blinked his eyes open. There was sunlight. The surroundings were unfamiliar but at first he didn’t care. It felt wonderful, lying in the soft bed, waking up to the warmth of the sun.

Now, for the first time ever, he understood what  _ well-rested _ meant. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in weeks, months - not since the plague had arrived. There was a sense of calm in his corporation he hadn’t realised he’d lacked. He sighed contently.

The events of the day before came back to him in a rush and he began to feel the weight of the suffering once more. He remembered meeting Crowley, and - oh. Where was he?

Aziraphale sat up and stretched his neck. He looked around the room and saw Crowley slumped against the door, effectively blocking anyone from leaving or entering. He was huddled, knees pulled against his chest and his head resting against them. His dark glasses sat neatly on the floor next to him.

He was sleeping.

Aziraphale sat and stared for a moment. He’d never seen the demon so relaxed. While awake, Crowley was always moving, even when he was sitting or lying down; there was always movement in him, whether it was his eyes darting or observing keenly, or his fingers drumming or twitching, his foot tapping impatiently. Even when he was at his most calm, he was never truly still. To Aziraphale, Crowley was movement incarnate. There was a force inside of him constantly trying to break free, or so it seemed. Often it felt like Crowley was never at peace - Aziraphale could almost hear his brain working at hundred miles a minute - and perhaps that was something innate to demons, anyway: cursed to never find peace.

But now, as Aziraphale watched Crowley, he was completely calm. Quiet. Peaceful. He did not fidget, there was no trace of tension in him. Aziraphale smiled. This demon had become so dear to him, dearer than anything else, and while he knew it was wrong, it never truly felt wrong. Surely it couldn’t be too bad to have a friend, even if said friend was a demon. Surely She would want him to extend his kindness to Crowley, for after all, hadn’t he been one of hers, once?

He almost wanted to let Crowley sleep. He looked so calm. But the sound of carts and crying from the street alerted Aziraphale to the fact that he had work to do.

Aziraphale got up and silently tiptoed over to the demon. He swallowed as he gazed down at him. His corporation looked so much younger with the creases on his face smoothed out. Hair falling on his face. Aziraphale would have called him beautiful had such a thought not been thoroughly unacceptable for an angel to have.

He cleared his throat. “Crowley?” he said quietly.

The demon didn’t stir. “Crowley,” Aziraphale repeated, a bit louder. Still nothing. He reached out and shook the demon by the shoulder. “Crowley-”

All Aziraphale had time to see were the yellow eyes snapping open, the slit pupils contracting in the light, and the momentary vulnerability in them, before the demon jumped on him and pinned him to the floor.

They stared at one another, both wide-eyed. Aziraphale saw the snake-eyes regain reason and watched a wall rising to hide any true emotion behind a guarded gate.

“Uh,” Crowley blinked and let go, climbing off of him deftly. “Didn’t realise it was you.”

Aziraphale sat up. The demon was already on his feet and offered him a hand; he took it readily and was hoisted on his feet. He brushed off dust from his robes.

“Sorry to wake you,” he said.

“Hng,” Crowley grimaced. “Not a good idea to touch a sleeping demon, you know. We’re always on our guard.”

“All demons or just you?” Aziraphale raised a brow. “Well, regardless, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Crowley waved his hand dismissively and paced the room. “How was your sleep?”

“It was…very nice.”

“You sound surprised.”

Aziraphale shrugged half-heartedly. “I didn’t expect it to have such an effect on me. I suppose it was due, after five millennia.”

Crowley chuckled and the sound made Aziraphale smile. He felt calmer than in a long while.

“You promised last night that you were going to alert me if anyone should come,” he cocked a brow as he watched the demon idly pick paint off the wall. “I didn’t realise you sleeping was a part of that.”

“I was at the door, wasn’t I?” Crowley scoffed in reply. “No one was getting past me. Like I said. Always on our guard. Ready to pounce at the slightest sound.”

Aziraphale couldn’t stop smiling. He knew he should have been horrified being so vulnerable in a demon’s company, but said demon had also slept and somehow it warmed his heart even more. Crowley kept glancing at him when he said nothing. Eventually, the demon rolled his eyes.

“Look, sleeping is fun,” Crowley huffed. “I wasn’t about to be left out.”

“The floor can’t have been the most comfortable spot.”

Crowley crinkled his nose and went to pick up his shades. Aziraphale sighed mentally as the demon covered his eyes from him.

“So where would you have liked me to be?” Crowley asked then, facing him, and Aziraphale saw only his own reflection in the black glasses.

Where, indeed? He had no answers, and yet so many came to mind unasked -  _ on the bed, or coiled as a snake on my shoulders, or by my side _ \- but those were fleeting and easily banished. He said nothing, but could see in the smirk that formed on the demon’s lips that his mind was following similar paths.

“Anyway,” Aziraphale hastened to change the subject. He went to the small window and looked outside. His mood sank at once. Nothing was different. The people were still suffering. The carts still went around, gathering the corpses of the ones who hadn’t survived the night.

“I need to get back to work,” he mumbled defeatedly. How could he have wasted time sleeping when the people were in pain? How could he be so selfish and cruel? How could he have ignored the suffering of God’s creatures when they were out there, crying and begging for relief? How could he have allowed himself to be tempted to-

“Hey,” Crowley’s voice cut through his guilt like a knife. Aziraphale looked at him and found the demon watching him, his mouth a thin line. “You needed a break. Everyone needs a break every once in a while. Even celestial beings.”

Aziraphale lowered his eyes. Crowley drummed his fingers against his thigh.

“I’ll be off,” the demon said. “Things to do, you know. Look, just… Don’t beat yourself up about resting once in five millennia. You’ve earned it, and that’s an unbiased opinion.”

Aziraphale watched him saunter to the door and wave goodbye without looking back. “I’ll see you later, angel.”

The silence in the room seemed deafening once the demon was gone. Left on his own, Aziraphale stood still for a moment. He wanted to believe Crowley, but feared that doing so would take him further from Her. And yet, in his time of distress, Crowley had been the only one who had come to help. The only one who had offered any comfort.

Aziraphale returned to the streets and continued his work. It was no easier, but his mind and body were rested. Perhaps he could try sleeping again, sometime.


	24. London, England 1666 - Wildfire

Crowley knew Hastur was in London. It wasn’t difficult to deduce considering he’d seen him walk about several times during the last few days. Hastur was still as conspicuous as ever, but nobody really dared to question his existence.

Crowley shadowed him for a good few days. Hasture went about, whispering into ears surprisingly discreetly. Everybody who was in charge of something got a little visit, but Crowley couldn’t see the big picture yet. From what he could gather, Hastur was strengthening their self-importance and ego.

Eventually Crowley’s curiosity got the better of him.

“I thought you were doing evil in the North?” Crowley drawled as he slithered into Hastur’s questionable company. 

“I thought you were minding your own business,” Hastur sneered.

“Looks like we were both wrong.”

Hastur made a face. “What do you want?”

“What, I can’t just come say hello?” Crowley shrugged. Hastur’s unamused look was an answer enough. “Just wondering why there's a need for two demons in such close proximity.”

“None of your business,” Hastur huffed, but there was a smug smile awkwardly playing on his lips. “But if you must know… I’m here for an important job.”

“Are you really,” Crowley mumbled. “And what might that be?”

“Oh, you’ll see,” Hastur was so pleased with himself it was sickening. “Just you wait!”

They parted ways and Crowley was rather pleased to be rid of him. However, knowing there was an important plan at work  _ he  _ wasn’t made aware of bugged him. Wasn’t he the one who’d done all the work up here? Well, at least claimed to have done all the work, but that was the same thing.

What work was Hastur sent here to do?

The answer came with smoke and flame. Crowley watched from the shadows as the house burned. A life was lost there, already. He saw Hastur lurking about, discreetly whispering into ears. 

The humans made some very bad choices and soon it was too late to do a thing. Once the fire had gone out of control, Crowley saw Hastur cackle and disappear into the mayhem.

It was bad. Over the next days, the fire spread through the dry wooden buildings like the locusts in Egypt that one fateful time. Crowley felt a bit sick. He liked London. It was developing into something interesting, and he hated seeing it being destroyed.

He was very conflicted. He wanted to get the people out, but Hastur was still lurking about, and saving lives or stopping the fire would be impossible to explain away in Hell. Well, maybe not  _ impossible, _ but very hard.

Crowley had never relished in wanton death or destruction. He didn’t see the fascination. Some demons enjoyed it or fed off of it, but he’d never gotten anything out of it. Humans were so fleeting anyway that cutting their lives or livelihoods even shorter seemed downright pointless. There was no shortage of souls in Hell, that was for sure, they didn’t need more.

He retreated to a nearby rooftop and watched the night sky filling with dark smoke and the red hue of the fire. He could feel the heat even there. He bit his nails, which wasn’t something he was wont to do - but the restlessness inside him forced him to do something. He tried to think how to help, there might still be someone there, trapped, but he couldn’t just go and see - Hastur would never leave before observing the magnitude of the damage.

As if as an answer to his frantic ponderings, the scent of clear skies and sunlight overwhelmed him, in stark contrast to the smoke and darkness. He turned his head and saw Aziraphale sit down gingerly next to him.

“Aziraphale,” was all Crowley could say. A spark of hope ignited in him. The angel barely looked at him, giving him a very quick, very strained smile, observing the fire with a worried frown.

“This is bad.”

“Yeah,” Crowley swallowed. “There are… there are probably people trapped in there.”

Aziraphale’s chest heaved as he nodded and bit his lip. “How did this…”

“Hastur’s masterpiece,” Crowley replied. “He’s probably still somewhere there, too, just… cackling away.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said in a strange voice. “Do you want to help them?”

It was a question Crowley wasn’t prepared for. What was the correct answer? Yes, of course he wanted to - but this was an angel asking it of a demon. A demon should say no. But Crowley didn’t want to say no - he wanted to beg and plead the angel to do something, because he himself couldn’t, and it was tearing him up.

“I don’t think they should die,” was what he managed to reply, eyes intently on the angel. “There’s no reason for them to die. No reason for this all to burn down.”

“And… what would you say is the best way to fight this?” Aziraphale looked at him with such open fear that Crowley almost couldn’t handle it.

“I mean, I…” Crowley stared. “The humans need to… I mean, Hastur’s been whispering to them, and now they really need to make better choices.”

Aziraphale nodded. “And the demon who’s down there… Hastur...”

“Very obviously a demon,” Crowley’s heart was hammering against his ribcage. “Wouldn’t want to meet him, but easy to spot.”

The angel got on his feet. “Right, well, thank you, Crowley,” he breathed nervously. “I’ll see you later. I hope. I’ll just…”

Crowley clambered on his feet at once. “You’re going down there?”

“They shouldn’t die,” the angel said.

“Yeah- I kn- yeah. I’ll come too.”

“No,” Aziraphale said almost too keenly and actually held up his hand as if to physically stop him. “The other demon can’t see you.”

“But I can hide-”

“The risk is too great, Crowley, please don’t argue!” the angel swallowed and looked anxious. “There’s not much time. I’ll see you later, I promise.”

Without another word the angel hurried away. Crowley was left standing there, stunned. Very decisive of the angel. He shook his head to clear it and narrowed his eyes. No matter what Aziraphale said, Crowley wasn’t about to just sit and wait.

He tracked the angel’s scent and followed him, moving silently on rooftops unnoticed by the humans, and observed. Aziraphale was being clever about it. He moved among the people, out of the fire’s way, and encouraged them to make a difference. It was subtle but so effective.

They made good choices to prevent the fire from spreading further. They got water, when possible, and doused the embers floating their way. They gathered groups and ventured deeper, searching for trapped people, and even managed to save quite a few. The officials were slowly joining the efforts. And all the while, Aziraphale was beside them, speaking into their ears, encouraging and influencing them, lending them courage when they lost their own.

Crowley was honestly quite impressed. Aziraphale was doing the work of at least three angels. He was kind and compassionate when he interacted with the humans, but stern enough to make his voice heard. His miracles and blessings were subtle, yet worked exactly in the ways he intended them to.

Unfortunately, angels and their miracles could be smelled from a mile away. It wasn’t long before Crowley noticed Hastur stalking towards the area where Aziraphale was working.

He cursed under his breath and slunk down from the roofs, and relished in the yelp that escaped Hastur as he spoke suddenly behind his back: “Is this the grand plan, then?”

“For Satan’s sake, Crowley,” Hastur huffed. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean? I couldn’t possibly leave when you teased such great things.”

Hastur took it as a compliment and grinned. “It’s magnificent, isn’t it?”

“Very nice,” Crowley hummed, lazily glancing around. “It’ll cause a ruckus, no doubt about that. I mean, it is  _ boring, _ but effective.”

“Boring?” Hastur sputtered. “What does that matter? The job gets done.”

Crowley shrugged and Hastur looked displeased.

“Whatever,” he grunted. “I thought I smelled something divine… have you seen anything strange?”

“Nothing,” Crowley hummed. “Honestly, I think you have a problem. Always thinking you smell divine stuff… you sure you’re not secretly obsessed with Heaven or something?” Crowley grimaced. Hastur looked livid.

“I can smell an angel!”

“Yeeaah, that’s what I’m talking about,” Crowley tutted. “I can’t smell anything. I’d have my nose checked, if I were you.”

“I-I’ll check your nose!” Hastur retorted while Crowley raised his brows at the strange threat. “You’re the one with problems,  _ Crawly! _ Why you’re allowed up here, I’ll never know!”

Hastur stormed away and Crowley watched him move further and further away from Aziraphale. With him sorted out, Crowley returned to the rooftops and continued to watch over his angel.

The fire was too out of control to be completely stopped, and Crowley hadn’t expected Aziraphale to summon rain clouds to extinguish it, but it was some relief to watch the people finally get their act together and prevent as much damage as they could. 

At dawn, Aziraphale joined Crowley on the roof and sat down with a weary sigh. The fire was still raging, but it was becoming a bit more contained, and the people at the edges of it were working to control it. There was a long way to go and the destruction was immense, but things were looking up.

“I hope I’ve done enough,” the angel sighed.

“You did good,” Crowley admitted. “I mean, you always do, don’t you, it’s in your job description. But I mean… it seems to be improving now.”

Aziraphale nodded. Crowley stared at the smoking and flaming ruins of his beautiful city, and couldn’t help but feel a bit blue. Something must have shown through as he soon felt the angel’s eyes on him.

“They’ll rebuild, you know” Aziraphale said softly. “They’ll rebuild, and they’ll improve it. You’ve seen it happen before. Like a good friend once told me, destruction is just as big a part of humanity as creating is.”

“Ah come on, don’t throw my own words back at me,” Crowley scoffed, but felt a bit better.

“You can’t really argue against them,” Aziraphale smiled. Crowley rolled his eyes.

“I suppose I can’t. I’m known to always be notoriously right.”

“First I hear of this,” the angel chuckled, but then his expression softened into something very solemn. “It’ll be alright, Crowley. I promise you.”

Crowley looked away and clenched his jaw to hide the smile on his face, but was certain Aziraphale could tell, anyway. 

“Should we go down there?” the angel asked after a while. “To make sure it’s all… going alright.”

“I thought you didn’t want to go with me.”

“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant!” Aziraphale’s eyes were wide and alarmed. “It was too risky for you to be with me, what with the miracles I was performing, but… if we only walk about and  _ survey. _ Much more inconspicuous.”

“Come along, then,” Crowley chuckled and got on his feet, helping the angel up without thinking. “Let’s survey.”

They descended the roofs and headed a bit deeper into the destruction. There weren’t many people the further they went, and the ones they saw were heading out of harm’s way. 

“So, this Hastur…” Aziraphale began nervously.

“A right prick, that one,” Crowley scoffed. “If you see him, you’ll know it’s him. He’s the least convincing human in existence, I have no idea why Head Office allows him up here at all. Smells bad, too. You’ve actually met him. Well, sort of. Been in his general vicinity.”

“I have?”

“He and his boyfriend chased you around Palmyra that one time.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale nodded. “There was a rather unpleasant smell wafting around, I do remember. Listen, Crowley, if we should meet him… you should probably hide.”

“Hnnng,” Crowley grimaced. “Yeah I know. Would be best to avoid him altogether, I say…”

They went on their walk and Crowley subtly directed flames away from unburnt wood whenever possible. Aziraphale discreetly fixed a few less-harmed structures when no one was looking. Then, as they were walking down a narrow, half-burnt street and approaching a turn, the angel stopped in his tracks.

“I smell him,” he whispered. “The same smell as in Palmyra…”

“Right,” Crowley’s mind was whirring. “Right. What do we…”

Without saying a word, Aziraphale shoved Crowley against a wall and tucked him behind some debris before returning to the street himself. Crowley craned his neck, bewildered, and saw him disappear behind a corner. He didn’t even have time to comprehend the situation before he heard Hastur’s snide voice.

“What do we have here.”

“Demon,” was Aziraphale’s too-polite answer.

“Angel,” Hastur retorted, and the word sounded so wrong coming from his mouth that Crowley wanted to smash his teeth in. “So, you’re the one who’s been trying to undo all my hard work. I thought I smelled you.”

“Well, I regret to say the same.” The disdain in Aziraphale’s voice was so obvious that not even Hastur could miss it.

“Shut up,” Hastur muttered. Crowley was dying to see what was going on, but he couldn’t without losing his cover. All he could do was listen. Hastur would know if he tried miracling anything. “It might not have been me! Unlike your lot, we don’t put all our legs in one basket.”

_ Don’t try to use me in this!  _ Crowley seethed.

“Eggs,” Azirapahle corrected Hastur like a patient school teacher, “put all your  _ eggs  _ in one basket.”

“It’s what I said. Regardless! You’re outnumbered. You had better leave.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Aziraphale replied airily. “I’d rather stick around for a bit.”

Crowley was chewing his lip so hard he was surprised it wasn’t bleeding yet. He didn’t think Hastur would try anything, he was too much or a coward, but… what if? Aziraphale was being far too careless.

“I’m warning you,” Hastur retorted and Crowley could picture that petulant pout that the demon always did when things weren’t going his way. 

“Well, that’s very kind of you,” Aziraphale hummed. “However, I have no intention to abandon these poor people.”

There was a moment of silence. Crowley imagined Hastur was probably containing a tantrum. He could also imagine the infuriatingly serene look Aziraphale was giving him. Things felt a bit tense, and even though demons and angels hadn’t really clashed since the War, Crowley didn’t want Aziraphale to take unnecessary risks. He wasn’t sure he could handle seeing his angel discorporated again, and Hastur wasn’t known for his mild temper.

“There’s nothing you can do anymore,” Hastur spat. “What I’ve accomplished here will have consequences for decades! The city will never be the same!”

“No, I imagine not,” Aziraphale replied. “But it could be better, and I can help make it better.”

“You can’t thwart this, or me!” Hastur all but screamed. “I am a Duke of Hell!”

“Really? I never would have guessed,” Aziraphale hummed. “Things have really gone downhill Downstairs, then.” A crack and a whoosh startled Crowley - Hastur had ignited something. 

Crowley was both terrified and amazed. He’d gotten so used to Aziraphale being painfully polite in any given situation that this edge and reckless snark was completely bewildering. While also chanting  _ please please please angel, don’t antagonise him, _ he couldn’t help but find Aziraphale’s attitude incredibly attractive.

“I am Principality on Earth,” Aziraphale continued, seemingly unfazed. “I will protect them.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hastur huffed. “The work is done and everything’s in motion. And you better watch yourself - I’m not the only one up here. You’re outnumbered,  _ angel.” _

After that, there was silence. Then Aziraphale appeared from behind the corner, alone.

“Well, he certainly was… a character,” the angel huffed as Crowley emerged from his hiding place. A beat of silence, and then - “I really rather disliked him calling me angel.”

“Oh?” Crowley swallowed, mind immediately buzzing with all the possible implications. “Do you - I mean don’t you - I’ve been…”

“Oh, no, it’s fine when you say it,” Aziraphale waved his hand in dismissal. “But he made it sound like an insult! How odd.”

_ Difference in intent,  _ Crowley thought to himself.

“Anyway,” the angel sighed. “I rather think we should try to avoid him. He stormed away in quite an undignified way - oh! Crowley, he set something on fire…”

“I’ll deal with it,” Crowley sauntered around the corner and forced the little crackling fire that Hastur had started to die down. “Fire is his go-to weapon, I swear. He needs to learn new tricks.”

“I’d rather he didn’t,” Aziraphale tutted. “He should unlearn the ones he already knows, if you ask me. Is he really a duke?”

“Yeaahh,” Crowley grimaced. “Don’t ask me why.”

“Are you… I mean,” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Apparently there are dukes and such among your… lot, and I wondered…”

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Crowley said through clenched teeth, not willing to discuss Hell’s hierarchy with his angel. “Who cares, anyway? It’s just some stupid title. Let’s just get as far away from him as possible, alright? There’s a whole other side of the city to inspect.”

And that’s what they did. Crowley was glad that Aziraphale dropped the issue, and even more so that he’d stood up to Hastur so readily.

But he was the happiest that Aziraphale thought it was perfectly alright for him to call him angel - and that he had noticed how different it was when said by another.


	25. London, c. 1770 AD - Strangers in the Night

One of the many things Aziraphale enjoyed about humans was their ability to come up with endless ideas for merriment. Feasts, banquets, parties, and gatherings of all kinds were incredibly fun and generally very preferable ways to spend time. He’d been to countless festivities, happy and sad, rich and poor, and he’d dearly loved most of them. Occasionally a party would go sour, of course, if a bad fight broke out or if the wine ran out, but most of the time he had a good time and went home happy and content.

The wealthy - and the exceedingly opulent - threw amazing parties, of course. Often they lacked the heart that made many moderate or small gatherings so wonderful, but the lavishness of decoration, food, and entertainment almost made up for it. Aziraphale appreciated many kinds of parties.

This masquerade was extraordinarily nice. Aziraphale really enjoyed the moderately exciting idea of wandering about unknown, and he had witnessed many a time when people, liberated in their assumed anonymity, would throw caution to the wind and flirt with exactly the wrong people. They would insult whomever they wanted, confident that by the next morning, nobody would remember or know who had said it. It was all rather sinful, really, but Aziraphale turned a blind eye. It was fairly harmless, after all, and quite entertaining. The next day he would usually go about and influence people to give to the poor to make up for the party’s discrepancies. 

There was a drawback, and that was the fact that he wasn’t the only celestial being present. Two angels - archivists sent to observe humans for a bit - had tagged along to see what humanity did for fun. Aziraphale had told them to walk amongst the partygoers and see for themselves. He certainly did not need them and their inane questions ruining his good mood.

There was another, unforeseen drawback, as well: a few hours into the party, he had sensed a demonic presence. In fact, several. He’d thought he’d caught a whiff of familiar smoke and apples, but the scent was drowned in something foul and unfamiliar. Even if it was Crowley, he couldn’t tell. He’d conferred with the other angels and together they’d assumed that the demons probably couldn’t single out any of them, either, and that their first mission was to make sure the humans stayed away from temptation.

Aziraphale said nothing as the inexperienced angels solemnly vowed to protect the innocents from devilish viles. He knew that the humans here were more than capable of getting themselves into all kinds of temptations, even without demons helping them. Thus, he settled to observing his comrades to make sure they weren’t doing anything stupid.

Laughter and talk buzzed in the glamorous hall and the delicious smell of food and wine filled Aziraphale’s nostrils. He smiled happily and fixed the feathery mask covering the upper half of his face. He’d gone all in, of course, and received many compliments on his outfit. There was a lot of embroidery and white feathers going on, and only a few people thought he’d been inspired by chickens. He’d politely corrected that swans would be more accurate, angels even more so.

A sort of a burnt smell cut through the roast and Aziraphale frowned. For a moment he feared the kitchen was on fire, but no - it was no smell of burning food. It was more subtle, more earthy, more familiar, but so hard to tell if he actually recognised it or not. The smell of evil was so strong that he couldn’t be sure.

Aziraphale saw him through the crowd, the lanky figure dressed in all black, with a cloak with silver embroidery depicting snakes of all things. For a moment they both stood still, but then the man in black sauntered towards him. Aziraphale somehow forgot to have an appropriate facial expression and rather just stared blankly. He could see that the black mask (were those horns at the top?) covering his eyes had a sheer cloth over the eye holes and made it impossible to really see his eyes. The red curls were quite artfully placed around his shoulders, however.

“Good evening to you, sir,” the man drawled, and Aziraphale blinked behind his own mask. Surely this was Crowley? Surely there was nobody else in the world who looked so much like Crowley and sounded like Crowley? The disguise wasn’t that good, after all - and come to think of it, neither was Aziraphale’s. Couldn’t Crowley tell who he was?

“And to you,” Aziraphale smiled nervously and bowed a little. Well, what else was he supposed to do? A polite greeting required a polite reply.

“A great party, don’t you think?” Crowley hummed and turned to look at the crowd. Aziraphale stared. He was very confused.

“Yes, rather.”

“Are you related to our wonderful host?” the demon went on casually. “I seem to have run into more relatives than not tonight.”

“N-no, well, no,” Aziraphale’s confused smile was frozen on his lips. Surely Crowley had to know it was him? “I’m just a friend.”

“Ah,” Crowley grinned. “So am I. Staying here for the night?”

“No, I live quite nearby,” Aziraphale’s head was spinning. What was this? There was no way Crowley was fooled by his costume. And surely he also had to know that Aziraphale was fully aware of the demon’s true self - hadn’t they spent millennia finding one another in situations stranger than this? 

Unless… Aziraphale swallowed. Maybe Crowley didn’t know. Maybe he couldn’t smell him and thought he was someone else. And come to think of it, how could Aziraphale be sure this was Crowley, anyway? He couldn’t smell him, either. Maybe this was just some human who happened to resemble Crowley a bit, and he missed his friend so much he was projecting?

Or perhaps… Aziraphale licked his lips nervously. The charm of masquerades was anonymity. The opportunities it offered. Perhaps Crowley truly didn’t recognise him. Perhaps he thought Aziraphale didn’t recognise him. Perhaps it wasn’t Crowley at all. Every single ounce of logic in Aziraphale’s head screamed against this thought, but he silenced them quickly. Perhaps they could just be two strangers for the night. Perhaps they were.

“So,” he cleared his throat and smiled at the man. “I didn’t quite catch your name, mister…?”

Aziraphale waited nervously as he watched him behind his blackened mask. This was the test that would determine the night.

“Crowmoor,” the man replied, a lopsided grin on his lips. “And you are…?”

“Fellowes,” Aziraphale said quickly. It was a name he often gave out to people if they demanded for a surname for whatever reason. 

“Charmed.”

Aziraphale popped a piece of cheese in his mouth. He had strategically chosen to stand near the laden tables; not only was it a good place to observe, but he could also pick up new snacks whenever he felt like it. He chewed on the treat and watched the dancing crowd.

“Enjoying yourself?” Crowley - no,  _ Crowmoor; _ if only for this night, Crowmoor - drawled. Aziraphale turned to look at him and wished he could see his eyes - but all there was to go by was the smirk on his lips. It was too easy to direct his eyes on the mouth instead of the eyes - he couldn’t see the eyes, now could he? The mouth, however, was right there, as arrogant and expressive as ever.

“Would you like to try some?” Aziraphale offered his plate to him. Crowmoor said nothing but picked up a small piece with his long fingers and slowly brought it to his lips, watching Aziraphale the whole time. Aziraphale swallowed as Crowmoor’s tongue darted out to lick the morsel before he languidly placed it in his mouth. Completely unnecessary and… why was he still staring at those lips? He snapped his eyes back to the dark mask and was thankful that his own probably covered the worst of the blush rising on his cheeks.

“Wine?” Crowmoor offered innocently and was somehow holding two full glasses in his hands. Aziraphale took the other politely and they drank in silence. Crowmoor was standing rather closer than was normal.

“I quite enjoy a masquerade,” the man drawled. “It loosens people up. Gives them courage and motivation.”

“It lures them into thinking they’re untouchable,” Aziraphale hummed in reply. Crowmoor laughed.

“Not untouchable at all,” he nudged Aziraphale with his elbow and directed his gaze to a corner where a man and a woman were keenly touching each other quite liberally. 

“The nerve!” Aziraphale huffed. That kind of behaviour was scandalous, but then again… it was late and the wine had been flowing all evening. His angel companions would no doubt rush over to stop them, eventually.

“Nobody will care tomorrow,” Crowmoor shrugged. “See how they keep their masks on? If anyone tries to claim anything later, they’ll deny it all. They say it wasn’t them, and no one can really prove it.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Aziraphale licked his lips.

“It’s freeing,” Crowmoor murmured very close to his ear. Aziraphale was determined not to look his way. “This is the one time they can let go and have some fun. No strings attached. No harm done. More wine?”

Before Aziraphale really knew what had happened, he’d downed several glasses of wine and the party just kept getting better. He was thoroughly enjoying this little game with Crowley - no, not him; this was some man named Crowmoor who just really looked like the demon, who knew at this point, and anyway he was determined to maintain the illusion - and their conversation had taken a suggestive tone a long time ago.

It was obscene, really. Aziraphale had never been quite so flirtatious. Well, he wasn’t flirting, of course, that was a ridiculous idea - he was just… going along. Playing the character of Fellowes. Enjoying wine and laughter. Everything was an innuendo, and it was hilarious. Hilarious, but at the same time, titillating. He’d given up on keeping an eye on the other angels, and couldn’t see them around, anyway - they could manage themselves, he was sure.

Somehow they’d found their way into a quiet nook of the party where they were unnoticed but perfectly able to observe the crowd and point out happenings in it. Many seemed to be in an amorous mood, no doubt aided by the wine, and some were more successful than others.

“Amateurs,” Crowmoor chuckled as they saw a poor man fail miserably in wooing a lady. Probably because he was so inebriated he could barely stand, and she was not. “You can’t- you can’t just walk up to someone and go in for a kiss.”

“To be fair,” Aziraphale slurred a bit, “I don’t think he’s thinking s-straight. S’probably a good idea in his head.”

“Still,” he scoffed. “You gotta have finesse. Gotta be sssubtle.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale smiled drowsily at him. “Like how?”

“Like ssso,” Crowmoor turned to him - closer than necessary, much closer - and Aziraphale tried so hard to see his eyes. “First, make contact.”

Aziraphale’s heart skipped as Crowmoor took his hand in his and slowly brought it to his lips, placing a kiss on his fingers. He swayed on his spot and began to think it wasn’t just the wine anymore.

“Contact,” Aziraphale repeated, mouth dry despite all the drinking he’d been doing.

“Contact,” Crowmoor murmured against his knuckles. “T-then, lean in.”

And Crowmoor leant in, pressing himself against Aziraphale. For a brief moment Aziraphale stared at the being in front of him, eyes unwillingly drawn to the lips, waiting, expecting, wanting - and then Crowmoor leaned further and to the side until they were cheek to cheek.

“You can’t give everything at once,” he mumbled and Aziraphale had to close his eyes as his hot breath ghosted on his ear. Crowmoor was holding him by the shoulders but Aziraphale was too stupefied to do a thing. “Can’t… can’t give them all they want, you know? Gotta leave them wanting it.”

The breath that left Aziraphale’s lips was completely involuntary as he felt Crowmoor’s lips press softly against the skin on his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut and grasped at his clothes - whether in desperation or to ground himself, who knew - and tried to gather himself. He found he couldn’t really. 

“And that’s how you do it,” Crowmoor murmured against his neck, his hot breath sending shivers down every single cell in Aziraphale’s corporation. Neither of them moved. Aziraphale was breathing in shallow breaths, eyes still closed and his senses filled with the scent of Crowley. No -  _ Crowmoor, _ surely, please - dear Heaven it tempted him. He knew he shouldn’t, knew he should just pull away and leave, but... No strings attached. No harm done. Could claim he hadn’t even been at this party, maybe Crowley didn’t know it was him… maybe it wasn’t Crowley at all. Crowmoor. Just someone called Crowmoor.

His brain screamed to him to sober up, but he refused.

“And… and then what?” Aziraphale whispered, ignoring things like breathing for the moment.

“Then,” Crowmoor replied, breath still hot against his neck, his nose brushing against him so wonderfully, “then you wait for the response. S’how you know. If they’re up for it.” Another brush of lips against skin, and oh… how Aziraphale wanted this. Needed this. He let out a breath he’d been holding for a few centuries, it seemed. He remembered Athens once more - it was impossible to forget, apparently - but he recalled none of the shame this time; only the want, the curiosity, the desire.

He wanted to feel that mouth on his neck again, wanted to taste his skin as well; just this once, under a disguise, anonymous - what harm could it be, really? Just Fellowes and Crowmoor, two strangers in the night, hardly anything to write home about…

Crowmoor was now brushing his nose lightly along his neck and it drove him insane. He was waiting for a response, Aziraphale knew, but how could he? What should he do? He wanted it so badly but knew he shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, and maybe it was the wine talking but he just really wanted to -

Aziraphale lost his balance quite unexpectedly and stumbled sideways, away from Crowmoor’s hold, as a large man passed them and drunkenly bumped his massive frame against them. Aziraphale heard Crowmoor hiss a curse, but the moment was lost and the spell broken. He fixed his mask and stepped away from the man, glancing at him cordially.

“Imbecile,” Crowmoor grunted through gritted teeth, eyes on the man now spilling a whole glass of wine on Aziraphale’s angel colleague who had wandered into the scene. That if anything was a wake-up call - he couldn’t keep fraternising with - with anyone, really, especially not in front of other angels. Crowmoor’s eyes found the angel, as well.

“Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Mr Fellowes,” Crowmoor bowed curtly. “Enjoy your night.”

“Likewise,” Aziraphale replied to Crowmoor’s retreating back. He heaved the heaviest sigh in a few decades and sobered up. The angel, white clothes stained red from wine, was looking appalled and clearly had no idea what to do, and Aziraphale felt the party had come to a close. 

Later, as he was trying to wrangle his companions away from all the sin they were so mortified by, he noticed a very obvious demon throwing a tantrum at a servant for not being able to get a whole barrel of wine, and Crowmoor trying to pry her away from the scene. Aziraphale did his best to get the angels out as soon as possible and avoid all contact with the other side whatsoever.

The next morning Aziraphale was walking to his favourite pastry shop when he was startled to the brink of discorporation by a voice behind him.

“Morning, angel.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale breathed as the demon slid into his field of vision, dressed in all black and with those dark glasses firmly on his nose. 

“I didn’t know you were in town,” Aziraphale continued hesitantly as he kept walking, Crowley following by his side. He tried to steal glances at him to confirm that him and Crowmoor were indeed the same person, but...

“I only arrived this morning,” the demon shrugged, giving him a sideways look.

“Did you?” Aziraphale kept his voice remarkably level. “On business?”

“Pretty much. What have you been up to?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Aziraphale smiled nervously. “Just, you know, God’s work and all that. Nothing of interest to you, I’m sure.”

Crowley hummed in reply and followed him to the shop, and then to the park where Aziraphale ate his delightful brunch. 

Neither alluded to the masquerade whatsoever, and Aziraphale thought it best to keep it that way. Whatever last night had been was best left in a memory. Just strangers in the night.


	26. Soho, London, c. 1800 - The Shopkeeper and the Snake

Crowley watched the bookshop from across the street for a good while before crossing the road. It seemed to cause no stir whatsoever, though that could probably be explained by the fact that th shop didn’t look too inviting. Despite it being a very normal-looking shop with normal doors and windows, it still had an air of ‘stay away unless you really can’t’ about it. It was very counterintuitive for a business.

Once at the door, Crowley scoffed at the little sign plastered on the window.

_Grand opening this Wednesday_

It was so small and meek that it would hardly draw anyone’s intention. During the time he had observed the shop, Crowley had seen absolutely no one pay any attention to it. All in all, for a shop that had its “grand opening” the next day, there was oddly little hustle and bustle going on.

Crowley ignored the lock on the door and entered. His jaw nearly dropped to the floor as he took in the insides of the shop - shelves and books everywhere, just endless piles of books. This did not look like a shop that was just opening, it looked like a library of decades - no, _centuries._

“I do beg your pardon!” came a frumpy voice from somewhere between the shelves. “We are not open yet, and I would kindly ask you to- Crowley!”

The change in the angel’s tone made Crowley’s mouth twitch in concealed joy. 

“Heya, angel,” he waited on his spot as Aziraphale navigated his way through the mountains of manuscripts. “I see you’ve finally set up your shop.”

“Oh, yes indeed!” the angel beamed. “What do you think?”

“It’s…” Ridiculous? Unbelievable? Magnificent? “It’s very _you.”_

Aziraphale’s smile illuminated even the darkest corners of the shop.

“How on Earth,” Crowley eyed the precarious piles, “did you manage to acquire this many books? Did you buy a full shipment or what?”

“Well, they’ve sort of… cropped up, I suppose,” Aziraphale spread his arms with a nervous smile. “I was just shelving the rest.”

“The rest?” Crowley snorted as he followed the angel to his shelving spot. There were two empty shelves, a number far too low to store everything that was still sitting on the floor. “Aziraphale, you’ve finally gone mad.”

“Oh, shush,” the angel tutted and resumed placing books on the shelf, very carefully.

“To think I brought you more.”

“What?”

Crowley tried to contain his nervousness as he handed Aziraphale the parcel wrapped in brown paper.

“Just a little something.”

“Thank you,” the angel’s smile was so warm and his eyes so bright that Crowley had to look away.

“Better open it before thanking.”

Aziraphale unwrapped the paper painfully slowly and let out a little cry of joy as he uncovered the books, looking shiny and new compared to the majority of the shop.

“They’re all from debuting authors,” Crowley explained as the angel browsed through them. “Signed. I figured that if they become popular, those’ll be worth something, and if they flop, they’ll be curiosities.”

“Thank you so much,” Aziraphale hummed, eyes still on the books and fingers caressing the authors’ signatures. “You didn’t have to.”

“Well, I can see that _now,”_ Crowley scoffed as he gestured to the chaos around them. 

“One can never have too many books,” Aziraphale said airily. “These will go on the top shelf.”

“Why top shelf?”

“Ah, well, you see,” the angel clapped his hands together, having laid the presents on the empty shelf to wait, “the top shelves, the ones out of reach, are for books that are not for sale.”

Crowley glanced around. Now that he looked properly he noticed that all the shelves were extremely top-heavy and probably only stayed standing by sheer miracle. The lower shelves were noticeably sparser than the higher ones, which were in turn bursting with books and papers.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said slowly, “this _is_ a bookshop, right?”

“Well, yes, of course,” the angel shifted uncomfortably. “It still doesn’t mean I have to have _everything_ for sale.”

“No, I think that’s exactly what it means,” Crowley crossed his arms. “You _are_ going to sell the lower shelf stuff, though?”

Aziraphale turned away and mumbled something incomprehensible.

“Why didn’t you just open a library, for Hell’s sake?” Crowley griped.

“I’ve always wanted to own a bookshop!” Aziraphale argued.

Crowley merely shook his head in disbelief. 

“I will sell something,” the angel resumed picking up books from the piles and placing them on the lower shelves. “But I’ll keep the ones that mean the most to me.”

“All of them, then.”

“No,” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “But some do have sentimental value. These, for example…” he brushed his fingers gently against the backs of Crowley’s gifts. 

Crowley swallowed. The angel looked at him with a strange something in his eyes, and suddenly his mouth was dry, his palms sweaty, and there was a disgusting, sterile smell permeating his every pore.

Wait, what? That last bit didn’t seem right. He crinkled his nose. What was that? Vaguely bleachy and definitely just a bit lavendery, just enough to give him a headache. His eyes widened as he realised what it was, even before the ominous knock on the door.

“We’re closed!” Aziraphale called, peering at the door over Crowley’s shoulder.

“Angel, no no no…”

“It’s us, Aziraphale,” came a dull, demanding voice from the door. “Let us in, please.” There was no request in that voice - no options.

“Uriel,” Aziraphale gasped. His eyes were wide as saucers as he looked at Crowley. “Get out, hide - quickly!”

Crowley didn’t see many exits and Uriel was already losing patience, judging by the way she tried the door.

“Coming!” Aziraphale called breezily. Crowley had no choice - he turned himself into the tiniest snake he could and slithered into a pile of books, melding with the shadows in the gaps. From his vantage point, he could see what was going on and could only hope he’d be hard to detect.

Just in time: Uriel miracled the door open when Aziraphale was only half way to it.

“Good afternoon,” Aziraphale greeted, clasping his hands together nervously, but a smile on his face. “How lovely to see you.”

Uriel raised a brow and looked around. She was dressed in a full-white suit with a matching tophat, little wing ornaments on her bellstrings and cuffs. She looked so out-of-place that Crowley was shocked there wasn’t a gathering of humans at the door, ogling, but then again it took hardly any effort to redirect human attention. 

Next to her was an angel Crowley didn’t know and who looked like he could be Uriel’s brawn, but of course, Uriel was her own brawn. He stood a bit behind her and looked rather benign.

“Setting up a shop is rather unusual,” Uriel commented, briefly glancing at all the books before returning her blank stare on Aziraphale.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” the angel in question replied, still with a very nervous smile. “Many own shops these days. In fact, it’s one of the oldest-”

“I meant for an angel,” Uriel interrupted. Aziraphale swallowed.

“Yes, well, blending in and all that.”

“Do you really think it’s appropriate for an angel to have so many possessions and trade with them?” Uriel narrowed her eyes.

“I wouldn’t call it trading, really,” Aziraphale tried to defend himself. “I plan to sell very little… it’s just for appearances, you see, a sort of a home base, if you will…”

“It’s unusual,” Uriel said in a voice which suggested she had nothing but disapproval for the situation. Crowley wanted to bite her ankle. Who was she to tell Aziraphale what to do - not to mention come here and stink up the place? Even as a snake Crowley was aware of the pounding behind his eyes. Uriel’s smell was really rather unbearable. He’d never cared for lavender, anyway.

“I assure you, it’s all just for appearances,” Aziraphale continued. “I can help and monitor the people easier when I have a cover. And I do promise I’ll do good with any money that happens to come my way.”

Uriel didn’t look impressed. She was about to say something when her face twisted in a little grimace.

“I smell something evil,” Uriel narrowed her eyes and slowly eyed her surroundings. Crowley drew back a bit and saw Aziraphale lick his lips. “Those,” Uriel then pointed at the books Crowley had brought with a look of utter disgust on her face. “Where did you get those?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “They were a donation. Anonymous.”

“Vile,” the archangel curled her lip. “You should get rid of them.”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” Aziraphale nodded eagerly. He picked up the books and moved them to a pile behind himself, further from the other angels. “These authors must not be very good at all. Must destroy these, you’re right. I’ll see to it.”

“That might be a good use for your little shop, actually,” Uriel said, then, a new tone in her otherwise lifeless voice. “If you can acquire books that are influenced by the Other Side and dispose of them, there might be a point to this madness after all.”

“Oh, a very good idea,” Aziraphale nodded eagerly. “It had crossed my mind, of course. That is precisely what I shall do.”

Meanwhile, the other angel had been looking around quite curiously.

“Why do they write these?” he asked and earned a sullen look from Uriel. “I mean, very few of these are religious. What is the point of the rest?”

“None,” Uriel tutted.

“Quite contrary,” Aziraphale said before he could help himself. “I didn’t catch your name…?”

“Erestophale,” the angel nodded kindly.

“Erestophale,” Aziraphale smiled. “You see, humans want to entertain, and educate, and voice their thoughts so that the ones in future generations can also learn and amuse themselves with their work. Their lives are so fleeting, but their words can live forever."

The angel Erestophale looked mildly impressed and intrigued, but Uriel was clearly done with it all.

“We had better leave,” she said in her usual monotone. “Aziraphale, I expect you to make this whole endeavour useful for us. And get rid of those,” she pointed at Crowley’s books, “they stink up the place.”

She turned and left without another word, Erestophale trailing behind her. 

Crowley turned back to humanoid form the moment they’d left. 

“She’s the one stinking up the place,” he muttered, rubbing his temple. “Blasted angels, giving people headaches.”

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale turned to him in an instant with an endearing look of worry on his face. “Are you hurting? Because of them?”

“She has a very nasty edge to her smell,” Crowley grimaced. “It’ll go away eventually…”

“I have a backroom,” Aziraphale fussed and ushered Crowley deeper into the shop before he had time to even think of resisting. Sure enough, there was a nice enough room with a nice enough looking sofa, surrounded with boxes and books.

“Have a lie-down,” the angel suggested and maneuvered Crowley to the sofa, almost forcing him on his back. “I’ll open the windows. I’m not sure if that will help… I’ve never tried, have I? Is celestial smell something you can air out? Well, regardless…”

Aziraphale never stopped fussing and talking as he went about the shop, opening every window he could. Crowley closed his eyes and listened to his voice until it all blended together with the relaxing hum of sleep.

Crowley woke up to the scent of tea and clear skies. It was familiar and comforting. When he blinked his eyes open he noticed he was on Aziraphale’s sofa, a horrid tartan blanket over him, and the angel himself sitting in an armchair across him, engrossed in a book with a cup of tea next to him. 

He almost didn’t want to say anything. On one hand, it was incredibly embarrassing to have slept on an angel’s sofa after such a stupid reaction to another angel’s smell, but then again… the scene was so tranquil and homely that he really didn’t mind just laying there, next to his angel, listening to him turn the pages lightly and hum when something in the book interested him.

Apparently, though, Crowley was being less inconspicuous than he thought.

“Awake already?” Aziraphale looked at him. “Are you still hurting?”

“Nah,” Crowley sat up and tossed the tartan monstrosity off of himself. “S’fine.”

“Good,” Aziraphale smiled. “I never knew an angel could have that effect on you.”

“Don’t you go thinking I’m incapacitated by any angel,” Crowley wagged his finger at him. 

“Seems like you were.”

“Don’t sass me, angel,” Crowley huffed. “I had a little headache, you had a comfortable sofa, I like sleeping. End of story.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale tried to hide the roll of his eyes, but failed. “I’m just glad you’re better.”

“Ngghadversaries,” Crowley mumbled and hid his joy at the words by getting up and pacing the room.

“Regardless,” Aziraphale shrugged. “Crowley, I just hope that… well, should you ever get any symptoms from my presence…”

“I don’t,” Crowley replied a bit too hastily. “Not a problem.”

Aziraphale held his gaze for a bit before breaking into a relieved smile. “Good.”

He got up as well, setting the book on the coffee table. He looked a bit unsure. “Crowley… I do like catching up with you, but I think…”

He paused. Crowley didn’t want to hear the rest. It couldn’t be anything good.

“I just think we ought to be so, so much more careful,” Aziraphale’s bright eyes shone with concern. “Uriel almost caught you here, and we would both be in such trouble, if…”

“But she didn’t catch me,” Crowley argued. He feared Aziraphale would suggest not meeting again, and he couldn’t handle it. “Didn’t even know I was here.”

“All I’m saying,” Aziraphale wrung his hands, “is that you need to be careful. We need to be careful. You’re always welcome here, I assure you, but…”

“They’ll never see me, I assure _you.”_

“Promise me?” Aziraphale swallowed. “Promise me neither Heaven or Hell will see you in my company? I cannot even begin to think what would happen to you if…”

“Stop that right there,” Crowley interrupted him. His heart ached at the angel’s worry. “I can smell an angel a mile away, and I’m pretty sure I can explain anything away in Hell. If they see me with you, I’ll spin them such a tale they’ll be congratulating me afterwards. Don’t worry, okay?”

Aziraphale looked unsure, but smiled briefly and nodded.

“Now. Lunch?” Crowley suggested. Aziraphale hesitated, clearly afraid to be seen by Heavenly (or perhaps Hellish) entities. Crowley rolled his eyes.

“I’ll bring lunch over. Nobody will see!” he added when the angel was about to argue. “I’ll be right back.”

Soon enough Crowley returned with a basket full of breads, cold cuts, and pastries, with a few bottles of excellent wine. They ate a wonderful lunch in Aziraphale’s backroom and Crowley could have listened to Aziraphale explain all about his book collection for as many hours as his angel wanted.


	27. England, 1856 AD - The Compassion of an Angel

The air rang with the buzz of conversation and the happy sound of laughter every so often. The smell of tobacco and alcohol was strong. Aziraphale sat in a comfortable leather armchair, cradling a drink and watching the people, with the corners of his eyes crinkled in a fond beginning of a smile. 

He loved them all so much. These club gatherings were a highlight for many of them, the one occasion when they could truly be themselves and not fear judgement or rejection, or worse.

A young man all but jumped into the chair next to him. Aziraphale raised his glass in greeting as he recognised his pleasant face.

“Fell, old boy,” young Cavendish smiled, reaching to pour himself a drink from the carafe on the table next to them. “So glad you could make it!”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Aziraphale chuckled. “I trust you are well?”

“Ah, you know,” the man shrugged and grimaced as he downed a glass of brandy in one go. “As well as I can be, I suppose.”

“Is something bothering you?” Aziraphale asked. He knew everyone here had something bothering them at any given time - it was, sadly, a part of living in a lie. 

“No, well, it’s just,” Cavendish smoothed his mustache. “Father is really pressing the marriage issue.”

“Ah.”

“And Violetta is a fine girl!” the youngster exclaimed desperately, clearly trying to convince himself more than anyone else. “I suppose I can’t make up any more excuses.”

“My dear boy, I’m very sorry,” Aziraphale smiled sympathetically and clapped the man’s hand comfortingly. Cavendish gave him a half-hearted smile and a shrug, and they directed their eyes to the crowd. Aziraphale’s heart went out for Nathaniel Cavendish. His parents had planned this marriage to Violetta for years now, and Cavendish was really running out of excuses.

He couldn’t just admit that he actually preferred young gentlemen to young ladies. Aziraphale wished there would be no need to hide something like that, he wished the world would just accept love for what it was - but if that time was coming, it wasn’t here yet.

He looked around the room. He took a deep breath and soaked in the love the space was flooding with. With just a cursory glance, he could see so much love and affection everywhere. Here, an adoring glance from one fellow to another; there, a subtle touch; and all over, the comfort of being among ones who understood. Aziraphale had found, in his long existence, that he often gravitated to places like this - where his support and consolation were so direly needed. He had been a shoulder to cry on far more times than anyone could count, and he would always be there for them.

“I see Luddington and Hastings have finally found their courage,” Aziraphale smiled, and Cavendish followed his gaze to where two men were bashfully whispering to one another.

“Yes, it’s about time,” Cavendish laughed. “I’m happy for them, even if… well, I know you’re not a fan of infidelity.”

Cavendish looked at Aziraphale and pursed his lips. Aziraphale glanced at him and lowered his eyes on his drink.

“Indeed I’m not,” he admitted softly. “I do pity their wives.”

He was silent for a long while and his sudden melancholy was in stark contrast with the merry atmosphere. He did not approve of extramarital relations, as he was a firm believer that once you committed to someone, you either stuck with it or ended it if it became impossible to stay true. However...

“It’s cruel that they cannot simply choose one another,” Aziraphale mumbled, then. “That they can’t walk about in public like that, can’t tell anyone… That this relationship is something to be hidden away.”

He took a pensive sip of his drink. Secret meetings in a park, covert lunches out of sight, the fear of being found out and the repercussions… Crowley’s face formed in his mind unbidden. He drew parallels where he didn’t want to, but couldn’t help it - the situations were rather similar. Hiding away a relationship that could land them both in a heap of trouble. A friendship. They were friends, weren’t they? As much as an angel and a demon could. Perhaps it was a bit one-sided - Aziraphale had always feared, somewhere deep down, that Crowley was in it only for personal gain, and he had every right to, of course; demons and angels weren’t meant to be friends. Maybe demons couldn’t even care about others that much. Aziraphale had done his best to ignore and forget the possibility, but suddenly the thought of Crowley not caring about him at all stung him rather painfully, and -

“Fell?” Cavendish’s amused voice jolted Aziraphale out of his reverie. He hadn’t even realised he’d just zoned off, staring into his drink. “You sure looked pensive,” Cavendish’s eyes sparkled. “Thinking of someone special?” 

Cavendish’s tone softened and he leaned his chin on his hand. Aziraphale jolted in shock. He glanced at Cavendish warily - the man was smiling in a very knowing way and Aziraphale felt exposed. The smile on his lips was fleeting.

“N-no, dear boy, not in that sense,” he replied. “He’s just… a friend. An old friend, and… it’s a bit complicated. We can’t really be seen together.”

“Whyever not?” Cavendish frowned. “Nobody’s going to get flogged for a friendship.”

“Ah, well, let’s just say we’re… on opposite sides. And his side… well. Our relationship would not do him any favours. I fear for his life, as much as I wish for his company.”

It was always so difficult to explain his relationship with Crowley to others, and therefore he often just never mentioned his demon friend. It was difficult to explain even to himself, sometimes.

“That sounds rather ominous, old fellow,” Cavendish raised a brow. “Is he mixed up in…” he lowered his voice and leaned closer, “you know, criminal matters?”

“Ah,” Aziraphale blinked. “Well, I suppose you could say that.”

“Are you sure it wouldn’t be better and safer to end such friendship?” Cavendish frowned and gulped down the rest of his drink. “I mean, surely…”

Aziraphale swirled the golden-brown liquid in his glass with a melancholy smile. “Probably. But I’ve known him for so long, dear boy. Quite frankly, I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

The young man watched him for a while without a word, and then poured them both more brandy.

“Life,” Cavendish sighed, raising his glass to Aziraphale, “is very unfair. Yet we must plough on.”

“Indeed we must,” he smiled and clinked his glass with his. “And may we make the most of it!”

Suddenly there was a tipsy man standing on a table in the middle of the room, arms spread and cheeks flushed.

“Gentlemen!” he roared. “I think it’s time for a dance!”

This was met with raucous cheers and soon tables and chairs were being moved aside, drinks were spilled on the floor; but it mattered little as the men arranged themselves in rows in the cleared space.

“Come on, Fell!” Cavendish laughed, trying to separate Aziraphale from his drink.

Aziraphale chuckled and finished his brandy, joining the others for a sporting round of gavotte. He couldn’t quite explain why he loved the dance so much. Something about the orderly, yet fanciful, steps appealed to him. It was easy to lose himself in it, and being surrounded by people who were so happy made him happy, too.

They danced for a few rounds, as usual, toasting after each one. It always devolved into boyish competing in the end, until it was just a few men trying to outmatch each other with the silliest dance moves in history. 

The evening ended in much laughter and the club members, in various stages of drunkenness, began staggering homeward. The night was warm and Cavendish asked Aziraphale whether he’d walk with him. Aziraphale agreed - the boy lived nearby and it did seem like a good idea to make sure he got back safe.

They walked along the empty streets, arm in arm. Cavendish had had a bit too much to drink and Aziraphale was subtly supporting him as they went.

“Life!” the man breathed to the sky. “What a strange thing.”

“Quite so,” Aziraphale hummed.

“Violetta,” Cavendish slurred. “She’s a good girl. Sweet girl. An angel!” His voice took on a sad tone when he spoke of her. “I wish… I wish things were different.”

“I know, dear boy,” Aziraphale patted his arm comfortingly. “Perhaps one day.”

“I just…” Cavendish sighed. “I don’t want to be unfaithful to her. But I can’t- I can’t tell her, and I want to be loyal…”

Aziraphale said nothing. There was nothing he could say to make it better.

“Here, I know a shortcut,” Cavendish stated after some more walking and pulled Aziraphale into an alley. It was dark and quiet, and suddenly the man stopped.

“Fell,” he turned to face him, still holding onto his arm. “You’ve always been so good to me.”

“I’m glad if I’ve been able to help,” Aziraphale smiled. Cavendish shook his head.

“More than that! You- you’ve always listened and cared. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Aziraphale replied. Even though Cavendish was drunk, there was pure honesty in his words.

“Fell…” the man swallowed and looked him straight in the eyes. “I won’t be unfaithful to Violetta. I promise.”

“Oh, my dear fellow,” Aziraphale’s heart ached at this innocent promise that meant so much to the man. “I know you’ll do right by her.”

“But…” Cavendish continued. “I’m not married yet. And… I would like to know the touch of another man. Before I can’t anymore.”

Aziraphale stared as the words sunk in. He gulped. Cavendish rested his hand on his arm still, and his eyes explored his with a desperate plea.

“Cavendish, I…” he really didn’t know what to say. He wanted to help this man, wanted him to have the best life he could, wanted him to be true to himself… But it was not possible. Not when his own true self conflicted so badly with what society expected of him.

And there he was, asking for the one thing he couldn’t have when married to a woman he felt no desire for. Aziraphale didn’t know the right way to act. Cavendish wasn’t confessing his love, he was merely asking for… Aziraphale swallowed. Could he offer that? Could he give the young man what he wanted? How far would his charity go?

Cavendish seemed to take his silence as a yes and leaned closer until their lips met. The kiss was short and full of tension, and as Cavendish pulled back his eyes were shining so bright -

Somebody cleared their throat in their close vicinity, causing Cavendish to jump away from Aziraphale like a startled cat. They both stared at a dark figure standing in the alley with them, looking ominous in the dim light, clearly having just arrived from the street. How much had they seen? If they told anyone, Cavendish’s life would be…

“Am I interrupting something?” the figure asked, and Aziraphale let out a relieved breath.

“Crowley.”

The demon sauntered closer, wearing dark glasses even in the middle of the night.

“Hullo, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, completely ignoring Cavendish. The poor man was plastered against the wall, eyes wide and scared. “You know, it’s not safe to engage in  _ those  _ kinds of activities in public. Might get incarcerated, or worse.”

“I don’t know what you...” Cavendish piped up, but Crowley interrupted him with one look.

“Run home before someone who cares sees you,” the demon said, voice void of any emotion. 

Cavendish looked at Aziraphale who nodded to him kindly. “It’s alright, go on. See you next time,” he said to the man. Cavendish eyed them both warily, but then left the scene quickly.

Alone in the alley with Crowley, Aziraphale straightened his lapels and watched the demon. Crowley watched him back.

“You’re extending your goodwill far, I see,” the demon drawled. Aziraphale felt his cheeks flushing and was thankful for the darkness.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he huffed. “That poor boy…”

“Your special someone?”

Aziraphale was taken aback by this. Crowley’s voice was completely void of any emotion and his expression was unreadable, dark glasses forming black holes where his eyes should be.

“What? No…”

“No? How promiscuous of you, then, kissing men on an alleyway…”

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale gasped. “How dare you-”

Crowley stepped closer and Aziraphale backed against the wall. The demon was so close he was actually pressed against his body.

“Was it at least good?” Crowley muttered through his teeth, his nose inches from his. “Because if you just wanted something casual, you didn’t have to look far…  _ for fuck’s sssake, _ angel, for  _ millennia... _ ”

Aziraphale thought he heard Crowley’s voice break slightly before it trailed off. His breath was hot against his lips as the demon was far closer than he should have been. For a moment Aziraphale was utterly confused, but then memories of the past flooded his mind. The suggestive hints since Eden, the shame of Athens… the masquerade a century ago was debatable and he chose not to dwell on that too much as a rule, but that had been the boldest temptation of all. Anger and annoyance flared in him. How  _ dared  _ Crowley act so possessive about one kiss? How dared he expect that if Aziraphale was to get intimate with someone, it had to be him? After toying with the matter for centuries, making a fool of him in Athens, and feigning anonymity at a party to gain who knew what, how  _ dared  _ he lash out like this?

“What is the matter with you?” Aziraphale pushed the demon away and stepped further. “You do not get to judge me, or him! You have no idea what that poor boy is going through, and I will not let you harass either of us.” 

Crowley was watching him silently, his mouth a thin line. Aziraphale looked away. Crowley hadn’t even asked what was going on. He had just assumed, and that’s what hurt the most.

“Good night, Crowley,” Aziraphale managed to say before he turned and left the alley. He didn’t look back to see if the demon made any attempt to follow him, and frankly, he didn’t know if he wanted him to or not. 

When he was back in the comfort of his shop he made himself a cup of tea and huddled in his favourite chair. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. How was it possible that Crowley so often managed to shift his mood completely, one way or the other? Sometimes he was feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Crowley would come and lift it off while lifting his spirits as well; other times, like tonight, he would be perfectly fine and then there was Crowley, dragging him down to the brink of madness.

He sighed. Perhaps this is what long friendships were like. Ups and downs. But were friends supposed to get so upset about the other’s… flings? Aziraphale grimaced at the word. Poor Cavendish. He’d have to talk to him later.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Cavendish. Would he have given the man what he wanted, had Crowley not interfered? It felt wrong to engage in intimate activities if there were no real feelings involved, but at the same time, he never judged anyone who did. It just felt wrong for  _ him  _ to do it. In all his millennia, there had only ever been a few humans he would have considered getting closer to, and even then he hadn’t gone very far.

But perhaps she should have? He frowned. Wasn’t he there to help? He didn’t really believe that intimate pleasure was something that was crucial in the Great Plan, but… it would have been kind, in a way, to give Cavendish what he wanted. What he couldn’t have.

Aziraphale sipped his tea. Should he? Cavendish might never truly get to experience life the way he was supposed to. It would be charitable. But then again… Aziraphale shuddered. If that was the logic he was following, there was a whole club full of people in a similar situation. He wasn’t about to go through all of them just to give them a few moments of pleasure. The very idea…!

There was a knock on the front door. Aziraphale frowned. It was the middle of the night, the sign clearly said  _ Closed. _ The knock repeated and he began to feel like this was no regular customer. He got up, braced himself, and went to the door.

Sure enough, Crowley stood on his doorstep.

“Come in,” Aziraphale sighed before he said a thing. The demon slunk in quickly and Aziraphale closed the door. “Tea?”

“No, I’m good,” Crowley muttered.

The demon followed him to the backroom where Aziraphale resumed his own tea. He watched Crowley remove his hat awkwardly before flopping down on the sofa.

“About earlier…” the demon began.

“It was very rude of you,” Aziraphale reprimanded. “And frankly, none of your business.”

Crowley’s jaw clenched and he looked away.

“Did you mean it?” Aziraphale asked before he could stop his tongue. “About… well, if I wanted something casual…”

He saw the demon’s Adam’s apple bob as the question hung in the air between them. What had possessed him to ask, he’d never know. It might have been a terrible mistake.

Crowley licked his lips. “Yeah. I mean. Sure.”

One missed heartbeat later Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Why?” His voice barely carried over to the other.

The demon stared at him, sitting uncustomarily still. “Well- we- you- we’ve known each other for a long time,” Crowley swallowed. “Been through a lot. Why not that?”

Aziraphale didn’t know what to say to that. Was that really all there was to it? Did the orchestrator of the original sin really not have another motive?

“Do you want to?” Crowley asked, then. “I mean, do you want…”

“... something casual?” Aziraphale finished the thought. The air in the room seemed stifling in its stillness. He could have cut the tension with a knife and served it for dessert. Crowley’s other shoulder twitched, which could have been considered a shrug.

The memory of Crowley’s breath almost catching his own in the alley, his body pressed against his, the languid looks ever since Eden… The thought froze Aziraphale on his spot and coursed through him in a scalding wave. He remembered how he’d felt in Athens, and on a few occasions since. The masquerade. The burning longing in the centre of his being, the desire to know more. It had always been the demon’s tempting voice that had caused it. If there was one person in existence he could’ve become closer with, it would have been Crowley. 

But did he want something casual? Aziraphale swallowed. No. The mere thought of getting so close to someone and then going back to the way things were was impossible to him. He knew he could never give himself to another if there were no real feelings involved. He needed to love and be loved in return. 

What Crowley was offering was just sex, nothing more. It was what he’d been after since Eden, and there was no more to that. A demon couldn’t love an angel. It was one temptation among many. It could never mean anything for Crowley. Aziraphale shoved aside the deep hurt in the core of his being and locked it away.

“No, thank you,” he smiled nervously. “I rather think feelings should be involved in such… activities.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Eventually, Crowley made a nondescript sound in his throat and looked away. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Thank you for the offer,” Aziraphale said weakly when Crowley got on his feet.

“If you ever change your mind,” the demon gave him a half-shrug. His face was still unreadable. He left before Aziraphale could even think of a reply.

When he was on his own again he felt odd. He thought he should’ve felt better - Crowley had come over to sort out their argument, and overall Aziraphale thought he’d handled the situation well. Crowley had offered, he had politely refused. 

Then why did he have a nagging feeling he’d only made things worse?


	28. England, c. 1870 - 1927 AD - A Soft Spot for Snakes

Crowley was really starting to dislike the 19th century. Sure, the world was developing at a rate which sent his change-loving mind reeling with possibilities, and the people, though pretending to be all high and proper, were just as susceptible to petty quarrels and sinful seductions as ever.

It’s just that nothing seemed to go his way this century.

Alright, the first half had been fine enough. He’d been kept busy by a few wars in which he merely sort of meandered around and caused minor inconveniences, but it gave him an excuse to take credit for all the horrors in his reports. 

But this latter half was a tough one.

It had all started going wrong when he’d seen Aziraphale kiss that human on an alleyway. All this time Crowley had assumed that the angel hardly sought out such things - he’d always been so bashful and coy about sex and seduction. To be so suddenly and unexpectedly proven wrong had hit him hard. He might have had a bit of a meltdown, but at least he’d had the presence of mind to go to the angel afterwards to sort it out.

And hadn’t that just plunged him deeper into despair. Somehow, incredibly, he’d actually offered to have sex with Aziraphale if he ever wanted to. He still couldn’t quite believe the events of that night. After millennia of skirting around the subject and being so careful, he’d just gone and thrown the offer out in the open.  _ Casual sex, how about it?  _

It had been no surprise to be turned down, but it had hurt him more than he could ever have expected. Aziraphale had been painfully polite, but what he’d said had sent Crowley into a very dark place. Aziraphale had declined because sex required feelings.

_ Feelings. _ Crowley wanted to scream his agony to the world.  _ Which feelings would you like me to give you first?  _ He’d wanted to ask.  _ Maybe you’re not interested in all the hate and anger and shame and spite that comes with being a demon, but how about one of the others? Want this longing? Lust, is that a feeling? Here, have some devotion - oh, not a feeling either? Well how about this millennia-long and eternity-deep love I harbour for you, how about that one?  _

Of course, he’d said nothing, because the angel’s statement had two sides: maybe he didn’t want to sleep with him because he thought Crowley had no feelings for him, or the far worse, but far more likely, option: Aziraphale had no feelings for Crowley.

That had been the thing that had crushed him. Of course an angel could never love a demon, he’d known that since time immemorial - or rather a time memorial, considering he was not allowed to forget a single damned moment he had spent with his angel. Aziraphale loved everyone, of course, but Crowley didn’t want to be  _ everyone; _ he wanted to be  _ the one, _ the only one the angel would love beyond all reason and doubt, the way Crowley loved him. But of course that could not be - for all he knew, angels were probably hard-wired to be incapable of loving demons.

He’d sulked about it for a few years, wishing he could just stop loving the stupid angel and be a proper demon for once. But no, he kept loving and he kept longing, and now knowing that nothing could ever come out of it was a stab right through his heart.

He’d pulled himself together, eventually. Try as he might, he couldn’t let the angel go. He felt like a moth to a flame - knew he could never attain what he wanted most, but couldn’t stop gravitating towards it anyway. Even if Aziraphale could never love him, they could still be friends. Crowley couldn’t bear the thought of existence without his stupid angel, and even though he knew that being close to Aziraphale and loving him constantly was going to be painful, he still thought it was a better alternative than never seeing him again.

So, he’d popped by after a couple of years as if nothing had happened. The Arrangement went on. 

There was another matter that Crowley had time to think about while he was hiding from the angel and the world, and that was the fact that if Hell found out about what they’d been doing, he’d be in deep trouble. Well, he could probably explain it away - he’d spin a story about tempting an angel into an unholy agreement. He’d probably get commended for it, even.

But there was also the other direction for things to go, one where Hell wouldn’t be so lenient and would come after him. Or worse yet, come after Aziraphale. Crowley needed something to defend himself with, and his angel, and what better weapon against Hell than some holy water?

Dangerous and mad, sure, but what demon could ever threaten him if he had such a weapon in his arsenal? He wasn’t crazy enough to try to get some himself; he had no desire to melt out of existence. So, he went to the one person who could help.

Of course Aziraphale had been obtuse enough to decline. He hadn’t even bothered to listen - he’d assumed that he wanted it as an easy way out. It was unfair and Crowley had lost his temper. Things had been said, and, well, he was at odds with the angel again. 

This bloody century. Might as well not bother with it anymore. He’d spent most of the 14th century asleep and he saw no reason not to follow his own good example now.

When Crowley woke up from his little nap, uncoiled himself, and slithered into the open world once again, he found out the world had changed quite a bit. It was only the turn of the century but suddenly there was so much catching up to do. There was another war brewing, humanity had figured out electricity, there were some extremely interesting vehicles being developed. Crowley was kept suitably busy for a decade or two, claiming credit for evils the humanity was perfectly capable of committing themselves, and generally making the most of it. Avoiding Aziraphale for the most part.

But, as history had taught him over and over, he could never stay away from the angel long. He was still kind of upset about the holy water incident and Aziraphale’s incapability to listen to reason, but he was ever curious.

His curiosity was somewhat curbed by a rather embarrassing discorporation in 1915. He was already sick of the war raging around - though ‘raging’ was perhaps the wrong word, at times; the barely advancing forces and stagnant trenches were almost as infuriating as the mindless slaughter that occasionally happened between them.

Crowley followed a batch of infantry to no-man’s land out of sheer frustration. Whatever mission the men were on was already doomed to fail. Most of them were gunned down relatively quickly, and then there was the mine. The mine Crowley failed to notice. The one he stepped on. 

If anything, it was quick. He barely remembered the pain, afterwards - but the little he did remember made his skin crawl for decades after the incident. It wasn’t a pleasant thing to remember, exploding like that.

Hell was agony afterwards, though. More than usual. Dagon had perfected a system in the infernal bureaucracy: that is to say, the system was designed to screw you over.

First, the right forms were like the Holy Grail of papers. You needed at least five, one of which was stored somewhere different each week. Nobody really knew where. Each had to be delivered to a different department, and from that point on the delivery to yet another department was completely in the incompetent and slow hands of Dagon’s orderlies. 

Crowley played the waiting game in the inner circles. They weren’t pleasant, but at least he could see people. He spent a lot of time with the souls of great composers. All of them were doomed to never finish another song, so all they could produce were extremely unfinished symphonies. It drove them madder and madder each time. The music was still good, though, played by souls who weren’t allowed to stop even for the slightest moment.

Rather gruelling, all of it, but if Crowley closed his eyes he could imagine concerts on Earth, and Aziraphale tapping his finger happily in tune.

There was no knowing how long Crowley might have had to spend down there - apparently one of his forms had been lost somewhere and now the rest were invalid, too - but his saviour turned out to be Beelzebub who crowbarred Crowley’s application through because apparently, the times were changing and Crowley was needed up there.

He refrained from appearing too grateful, but by hellfire was he ever.

It was somewhere around the mid 1920s when Crowley surfaced again and got accustomed to the world. It was even more exciting than before and he loved it.

He purposefully picked up the angel’s scent not soon after and followed it. He’d imagined to find the angel in his bookshop in Soho, but oddly enough, he wasn’t even in London.

Crowley followed his sunlight to the countryside - an unusual habitat for the ever-urbanizing Aziraphale - and got to his destination in record speed thanks to his new, shiny, wonderful Bentley. Of course, he didn’t know how to drive, but as with anything, he learned it on the go. Not that difficult. Only a few near-casualties. He’d also improved the vehicle to do away with the rather annoying flaw of it requiring petrol to move. Someone should’ve thought about that earlier. 

He parked the car in a quiet location near a woodsy area. What in the world was Aziraphale doing so far out of the city, away from restaurants and theaters? As Crowley scrambled through the bushes and caught sight of a huge mansion smack-middle of the greenest countryside in history, it started to make sense.

There was a little road, a path more like, winding across the forest. Crowley smelled vanilla, heard voices, and hurriedly slithered up into an oak as a snake. He coiled around a branch, hidden from view, and observed.

A party of four was approaching, laughing and being loud. Two girls and two guys, all of them 20-somethings except for the fourth member of the group who was an eternity older than the rest. Aziraphale was oddly dressed; some sort of a walking outfit with cropped trousers and a stupid little hat to top it all off. Far too much tartan. The young man with him was wearing much the same, and the girls weren’t far off either. Crowley was endlessly pleased with this era and the trouser-wearing women; now if men would just start wearing skirts outside of Scotland, the world would be a better place.

“Liddy, you’re ghastly!” the darker girl giggled, playfully punching her blonde friend on the shoulder.

“Please,” the blonde grinned. “He was begging for it, honestly! Jojo, tell her I’m right!”

A man with all limbs raised up his hands. “I’m not meddling in this.”

“Coward,” Liddy stuck out her tongue. “Zira, you at least know I’m right.”

_ Zira?  _ Crowley would’ve grimaced if snakes had had facial expressions. Who dared call his angel  _ Zira? _

Aziraphale smiled wanly. “Liddy, dear, he only asked for a light. I would hardly call that a threat to your life.”

“He looked at me funny!” Liddy argued.

“Still, a bit of an overkill to throw your drink on him,” Jojo shook his head.

“Oh, boo,” Liddy rolled her eyes. “By the by, Effie, do you still have the perfume cousin Ethel gave you? Because I think it would go well with my-”

She was interrupted by her friend’s shocked scream. Crowley was puzzled. There was nothing scary nowhere near.

“A snake!” Effie gasped, and for a moment Crowley thought his hiding place wasn’t very well hidden, after all - but Effie pointed a bit ahead on the road. He looked and indeed saw a dark coily form slightly to the side of the path.

“Oh, disgusting,” Liddy scrunched her nose. “Jojo, kill it for me?”

“What? We can just walk past it,” the man shrugged. Nevertheless, the whole party had come to a halt.

“What a weird colour, all black,” Effie commented, nervously fidgeting with her collar. “It’s not moving. Is it dead?” 

Aziraphale stared at the snake and seemed like he wasn’t really listening. 

“Zira, be careful!” Liddy cried as Aziraphale went closer without so much as a word. Crowley watched intently as the angel arrived by the snake and knelt down. He wasn’t facing Crowley’s way, so it was hard to decipher what was happening, but his shoulders slumped a bit.

“It’s hurt,” Aziraphale said to the others. “Looks like it’s been bitten. Just a black adder,” he mumbled to himself. Almost disappointed?

“You sure it won’t bite us?” Effie bit her lip.

“Quite sure,” Aziraphale replied and lifted the snake in his arms, much to the horror of his young friends.

“Oh,” Liddy ran over curiously. “It’s actually rather pretty.” She inspected the serpent close, but from a careful enough distance away.

“Zira, you old devil,” Jojo smirked as he sauntered nearer. “Are you also a snake whisperer?”

“Animals tend to like me,” the angel smiled. The snake was completely calm in his hands, and Crowley wished he could trade places with it at once. “I’ve always had a soft spot for snakes.”

Crowley wanted to scream.

“Will it be alright?” Liddy frowned. “That bite looks nasty.”

“Snakes are resilient, I’m sure it’ll survive,” the angel assured her.

The humans admired the snake for a moment before Jojo reminded them that they were going to be late for tea if they didn’t hurry. This was enough of a threat for them to forget about the animal and begin hurrying towards the mansion.

“Zira, come on!” Liddy called when Aziraphale didn’t immediately follow them. “Auntie Imelda won’t be happy with me if I don’t bring you along!”

“Just a moment!” the angel replied. He watched the snake in his arms and gently stroked its head with one finger. 

“You’re very beautiful,” Aziraphale spoke softly to the animal. “You remind me of someone.”

He then put the snake down on the path and hovered his hand over its wound, which disappeared at once.

“Go along, now.” As if on command, the snake slithered into the undergrowth. Aziraphale stood there for a moment, watching it go, and then sighed to himself. He began walking after his friends, leaving Crowley alone on the branch.

_ What had just. What had he. Had the angel just. _ Crowley was somehow unable to form a coherent thought. He stayed on the branch for who knows how long, simply because he couldn’t function for a while.

_ A soft spot for snakes.  _

Crowley didn’t want to stay in the countryside afterwards. He sped back to London in record time and prowled around the streets for a good while. He switched all the house numbers on one street and stayed to watch the ensuing confusion and frustration. 

In the end, he couldn’t run from his thoughts forever. He slunk into a pub in Whitechapel and sat in a dark corner with a drink. He must have emanated a very nasty aura since everyone steered clear of him.

Aziraphale seemed, if Crowley had interpreted it right, to miss him. It certainly seemed like he had forgotten or forgiven their last little fight. The fondness he had showed that snake made something tighten in Crowley’s chest and now he wanted nothing more than to slither into the angel’s presence and be held like that adder had been. But of course, Aziraphale would recognise him instantly. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea? Maybe he could do that and pretend that he thought Aziraphale couldn’t recognise him. Throw the ball in his court, so to speak.

But no… he swallowed. There would be questions and talking and he couldn’t handle that right now. He didn’t particularly like to talk about  _ feelings  _ and things like that, those were dangerous waters.

So instead, he settled to drinking the night away. Maybe try again in a few decades.


	29. London, 1941 AD - Be Still, My Beating Heart

Aziraphale lovingly placed his precious bag of books on a table and hurried to the backroom. He lit a single lamp and steadied himself.

Crowley had agreed to come in for a drink after the rather tumultuous events at the now ruined church. The Nazis had really played him for a fool, and Aziraphale did his best to swallow his pride and get over his shame at being so gullible. 

He heard Crowley shuffling about in the shop and drew a shaky breath. Time and time again, for so many millennia, Crowley had always been there. He always showed up at the nick of time, he was always there to save Aziraphale and fix what was wrong.

It was strange behaviour for a demon. Aziraphale had wanted to believe Crowley was his friend for so many centuries, and then had spent equally many trying to remember that they could never be friends, that Crowley only stuck with him because he was keeping an eye on his adversary.

And Aziraphale had tried so, so very hard to remember that and ignore his own wish to have a friend, someone to share the millennia with, an equal. 

He had failed, he knew that much. No matter how much he tried to tell himself not to get attached because Crowley sure wasn’t, he couldn’t help himself. Crowley had become his best friend, no matter how one-sided it was, and now…

He closed his eyes and paused as he was halfway to opening a precious wine bottle. He’d saved it since the start of the war, knowing luxuries like that would become rare. He could never miracle more into existence, not when others had nothing. 

He stared at the bottle, unseeing. Crowley had saved his books. It was so unnecessary and yet he’d done it. 

Aziraphale hadn’t spoken much on their ride back to the shop through the war-ravaged land. He had tried to say something many times, but words hadn’t come out. He had felt like there was something trapped in his chest, swelling and growing and desperate, but he couldn’t name it and couldn’t let it out. He’d stolen glances at Crowley, fidgeted with his bag, felt like throwing up and crying and laughing at the same time.

Even now he was nervous and didn’t really know why. The feeling in his chest wouldn’t go away. He needed to be alone, yet couldn’t bear the thought of parting with Crowley again, so he’d invited him in.

He’d feared rejection, like on that night in Athens, over two millennia ago. But this time Crowley had agreed, he’d crossed the threshold and followed Aziraphale inside.

The demon sauntered into the room and Aziraphale gave him a brief smile before turning his eyes away.

“Take a seat,” he offered politely and Crowley flopped down on the sofa.

Aziraphale’s heart was beating painfully as he slowly poured the wine into two glasses. He was afraid to turn around and face his friend, his adversary. Nemesis. Immortal enemy. He took a deep breath and turned, a forced smile on his face, and offered a glass to the demon.

Crowley took the drink and Aziraphale sat opposite to him. The demon had removed the hat but the dark shades still stayed on. Aziraphale’s eyes were glued on Crowley’s face, desperate to catch a glimpse of yellow. 

His heart kept racing and he realised he was shivering. Must have been the stress of the situation, the relief, the fear… must have been.

“You alright?” Crowley drawled, head tilted and a frown on his face.

“Oh!” Aziraphale jumped at the sound of his voice. “Yes, of course! Tip-top.”

The demon didn’t look convinced. They drank in silence for a while. Aziraphale tried not to stare, but found himself stealing glances at Crowley. He was constantly on the verge of saying something, anything, but couldn’t. The feeling in his chest didn’t ease.

“Are the sunglasses necessary indoors?” he managed to ask. It came out in a quick breath, nervous and hopeful.  _ Please take them off, please let me see you. _

“Not really,” Crowley shrugged. “I’m just used to them.”

Aziraphale made no reply but kept looking at him. Crowley must have noticed something was going on, and without breaking eye contact he took off his glasses and folded them in his pocket.

Aziraphale swallowed as the yellow eyes met his. He knew his face was giving away all sorts of things, probably, but couldn’t look away or say a thing. Those were the eyes that had sought him out since Eden, eyes that had been there through the good and the bad, eyes that belonged to one and only one being in this existence.

And Aziraphale loved them.

His mouth ran dry as the realisation shook him. He blinked and averted his eyes, sipping his wine and trying to calm himself.

He had fallen. Not in the way he had feared for so many millennia, but he had fallen regardless - deeper and harder than he could ever have imagined. He had fought against it, subconsciously, for so many centuries, and had now failed in his efforts. The battle was lost, he was defeated, and there could never be victory.

It was bittersweet, knowing it. He wanted so much but knew he couldn’t have any of it. He needed to say something in order to diffuse the situation. Wanted to see if he had any hope - knew he didn’t, but somewhere in the back of his mind there was a ‘what if’ that nagged him. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said after a while. He licked his lips as the demon raised a brow at him. “I’m… I just want to say how grateful I am. For my books. It was… well. It was considerate.”

It wasn’t what he had wanted to say at all, but it was true nonetheless. 

Crowley watched him over his drink. “Well, you saved us from discorporation, that was the least I could do.”

“I rather think you saved me from discorporation first,” Aziraphale smiled, fingers smoothing his glass. “I… I owe you.”

“Dangerous thing, that,” Crowley hummed. “Saying you owe a demon.”

“Well,” Aziraphale’s chuckle was nervous and breathy. “Wouldn’t be the first time. I’ll pay my debt to you.”

_ Please understand I mean it. I mean it more than you know. I would do anything… _ He swallowed. He could never say what he wanted to say. He was afraid, so afraid of ruining everything, and he could not be so selfish as to drag their friendship down with him.

“Here’s to that,” Crowley raised his glass and Aziraphale mirrored the gesture, forcing a smile on his lips.

Silence fell once more. It was agony for Aziraphale. They drank their wine quietly and Aziraphale tried to keep himself composed. He wanted to be alone, but when Crowley got up to leave he felt like he could have done anything to make him stay.

“Do you have a place to stay in London?”

It was innocent enough of a question and stopped the demon in his tracks.

“I do, if the building still stands,” Crowley shrugged in reply. “I haven’t been here since the last bombing.”

“You’re welcome in the shop anytime,” Aziraphale offered. A rush of warmth rose on his face. “Really. If ever you need a place to stay…”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” the demon tilted his head.

“You can stay for the night, if you want,” Aziraphale suggested. He tried so hard to sound casual, like it meant nothing, but he wished for nothing more than to keep the being dearest to him in the whole universe close for a few more hours.

Still, he couldn’t prevent the heat from rising on his cheeks and his heart from hammering against his ribcage - and suddenly he was sure Crowley could notice. The demon, however, merely licked his lips and placed the dark glasses back on his nose, shielding himself away from Aziraphale once more.

“Nah, best be off,” Crowley hummed and picked up his hat. “You should turn off the lamp. Never know about the air raids.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale replied. Crowley walked through the dark shop and stopped at the door. Aziraphale followed. It was only polite.

“Thank you, Crowley,” he said in a soft voice. He was standing very close now, closer than he had planned, and the demon held his ground.

“Ehh you know,” Crowley deflected the praise. “S’nothing.”

“Well,” Aziraphale couldn’t tear his eyes away from Crowley’s. He tried his hardest to see even a glimpse of the yellow in Crowley’s eyes behind the dark shades - he wanted to remember every bit of them since he could never know when he’d see them again. He didn’t want to say goodbye. He wanted Crowley to stay.  _ Please don’t go. _

“Good night, Crowley,” he whispered. There was a strange look on the demon’s face as they stared at one another, standing too close, the air electric between them. Aziraphale wanted to tear off those infernal glasses and  _ see. _

“G’night, angel,” Crowley murmured, and was gone.

Aziraphale stood there, staring at the closed door. His mouth suddenly ran dry and a shiver ran through his body as the tension of the past few moments finally left him. It took all his power not to collapse right there and then. He found his way to the backroom and sat down. He stared at nothing for a good while before stifling a sob. He squeezed his eyes shut and covered his mouth with his hand. There was nobody with him but he would not, could not, let this out. 

This wasn’t right. This was dangerous. 

He could not love a demon. Not like this. 

But there was no repressing the flow of emotions he had realised that night and nothing in this world, or in any other, could dim the burning beacon of his love. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would love Crowley to the end of the world and back, regardless of whether it was reciprocated, regardless of what anyone else thought about it.

And it terrified him to no end.


	30. London, 1964 - Demonic Doings

Crowley finished watering the potted plant Aziraphale had, for whatever strange reason, gifted him a few months ago.

It was ridiculous. The angel was ridiculous. He seemed to think Crowley needed a plant and wouldn’t hear no for an answer. Begrudgingly, Crowley had accepted the gift and taken it home. It now stood in the bare room in the brightest spot of the place.

“You better start growing new leaves, or else…!” Crowley growled at the little thing and imagined he saw a shiver go through the stem. He nodded, satisfied. If he was going to take care of a plant, he was going to make sure it was the best plant in the history of house plants. He did not doubt for a second that Aziraphale would have thought his methods cruel and unusual, but so far he’d gotten results. Fear really did wonders.

Crowley sauntered away and wondered if he should pay the angel a visit, just to let him know the plant was still alive and well. Aziraphale had given it to him completely out of the blue, and behaved rather oddly while doing so. Come to think of it, the angel’s behaviour had become increasingly strange ever since the big war.

Might as well see what he was up to today. A discreet, late dinner at the Ritz was something the angel could never refuse.

Crowley stepped onto the street and was halfway to his car when somebody called his name. With a sense of foreboding, he turned on his heels and held in a groan as he saw a man walking lazily towards him. What he couldn’t hold in was the annoyed hiss he let through his teeth. 

Crowley cursed to himself as he saw who it was. The scruffy man with long white hair and whiter eyes grinned at him as he drew near. With his slicked-back hair and bony features he could have been called decently good-looking, if not for his hunched countenance and the eternally shifty expression on his face. This demon was one Crowley had no patience for. He would rather have dealt with Hastur than this one.

“Malarak,” Crowley drawled as he walked to meet him. “What are you doing here?”

“Just came up to see how things are going,” Malarak shrugged and eyed the buildings. “Been taking care of the new ones down below. Gets so boring after a while. I want to do something.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” Crowley said airily. “Wonderful to see you, so glad we had this talk. I’m sure you wanna…”

“I’m bored out of my mind,” Malarak licked his lips and brushed past him. “I want to  _ do  _ something.”

Crowley snarled internally. Malarak was a walking contradiction. He didn’t get along with anybody, and yet constantly sought company. He had a very short temper and Crowley knew that if he hung around Malarak for any length of time, they’d end up exchanging blows. He really wasn’t looking forward to getting scratched by the demon’s hawk-like talons.

“Well, what do you want, then?” Crowley sighed in defeat. He knew he couldn’t get rid of Malarak, but maybe if they found something for him to do, he could ditch the other demon quickly.

“I don’t know,” Malarak tutted. “Isn’t there a monastery here or something? I’ve always loved messing about with monks.”

“Right, of course,” Crowley huffed through his teeth. “Fine, fair enough. Come on then… there’s one in Ealing.”

“Excellent!” Malarak grinned, showing most of his cracked teeth. 

“Let’s catch a bus,” Crowley hummed.

“What?” Malarak complained. “Don’t you have a vehicle or something?”

“Never had one,” Crowley replied as he led the demon right past his Bentley. There was no chance in Heaven or Hell he’d let Malarak inside his beautiful car.

Crowey stared stubbornly out of the window at the darkening city as they trundled along the streets. He was wondering what Aziraphale was doing; he sensed he was in London, but didn’t dare to extend his search in fear of the demon next to him somehow noticing. Speaking of, Malarak was already twitchy and restless, and it promised nothing good.

Malarak was totally unsuitable for any kind of long-term plans since he lacked patience. The jobs he’d gotten in the past had all been quick one-time things, often violent. Crowley remembered one time when he’d clashed with Ligur over something stupid. Both of them had been discorporated in the fight that ensued. Dagon had had a proper fit about it.

Whatever Malarak wanted to do with the monks, it wasn’t going to be subtle or graceful.

“Here we are,” Crowley announced as they slunk out of the bus at the monastery. He glanced up at the spires of the church connected to it, and sucked his teeth. Smelled holy. “Now what?” He turned to Malarak, who looked ready for action.

“I just wanna destroy something,” Malarak said to Crowley’s eternal un-surprise. “If there are no souls to claim, then… property.”

“Classy,” Crowley muttered as he followed the other demon. They circled the building in search of anything interesting. Crowley wondered how long it would take before Malarak got bored and lashed out, as he usually did. It wasn’t the brightest idea to visit a monastery in the evening as the monks were spending time indoors and not lurking outside in the darkness, and of course Crowley and Malarak couldn’t go in because the place was so hallowed it reeked.

Malarak kicked the side of the building, hard, and immediately spouted out a litany of very foul expletives.

“Bloody thing!” he snarled after hopping on one foot for a while. “Even the outer wall stings!”

Crowley made a mental note to never touch a church of any kind, ever.

“Things were better in the 1300s,” Malarak grumbled, prowling about and punching anything that wasn’t the building itself. “The monks walked about more. What is this garbage?”

Crowley didn’t know what to say to that, but he was spared from thinking as they heard a door open. Bright, warm light flooded into the night air as the demons quickly hid in the shadows.

“Thank you ever so much,” said a man’s voice, and Crowley’s mouth ran dry. Aziraphale. What was Aziraphale doing here? He glanced at Malarak and there was no mistaking - he had realised there was an angel about.

“Blessings with you, Mr Fell,” said another man before closing the door. Crowley saw Aziraphale turn and begin walking towards the bust stop, but before he could do anything, a streetlight right above him popped and extinguished, and Malarak was already running towards him.

“Wait!” Crowley hissed at him, desperate to come up with something, anything - the situation was as volatile as Malarak was.

But there was nothing he could do. Soon enough Malarak had waylaid Aziraphale, putting himself between the angel and the exit. Crowley had no choice but to follow. He could see the surprise on his angel’s face as he took in his new company; luckily, Aziraphale had the presence of mind to pretend like he had never seen Crowley before. He was a terrible actor, really, and he could never have fooled Crowley. Malarak, however, was not very smart.

“Going somewhere?” Malarak grinned, eyes on the angel.

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Aziraphale replied kindly. “Was there something you wanted…?”

“Depends,” Malarak shrugged and licked his lips. “What you got there?” his gaze was fixed on the leather bag Aziraphale was carrying, and Crowley realised it was the one he’d carried the books in during the war. No doubt it was used for a similar purpose, now.

“None of your business,” Aziraphale replied, his voice taking a defiant tone even as his grip on the bag tightened. Crowley could barely contain a smile. The angel was not messing around when it came to books. “Now, please stand aside.”

“As if!” Malarak snorted. “Come on, show us what’s in the bag. Or do we have to take a look ourselves?”

Malarak took a step closer and Aziraphale took a step back. His eyes darted fleetingly to Crowley, who had no idea what to do, honestly - he couldn’t defend Aziraphale in front of Malarak, and he couldn’t incapacitate Malarak without it looking suspicious. He knew manipulation wouldn’t work on the demon - despite his many, many failings, he was nothing if determined. Hell-bent on his goal, one might say.

There was very little doubt in Crowley’s mind - Malarak was looking for a fight. This was, after all, a demon who had attacked another demon once because he was wearing similar shoes. It would have surprised Crowley if this wasn’t the direction the evening was going. He’d just never thought Aziraphale would get dragged into it.

“You’re overpowered,” Malarak spat at Aziraphale and Crowley’s fears were confirmed. Malarak was going to fight for it. He balled his fists. If Malarak attacked Aziraphale, it would be over. If the angel couldn’t fight Malarak off on his own, he’d either discorporate or Crowley’s cover would be blown. Crowley wasn’t about to let Malarak hurt his angel, but he couldn’t openly take Aziraphale’s side, either.

Then, just as the air basically crackled with tension, Aziraphale dug into his coat pocket and took out a glass bottle full of clear liquid. He put down his bag, eyes never leaving Malarak, and held the bottle up so they could see it. He unscrewed the cork.

“I have here water,” Aziraphale raised his voice. “This water is made holy by Her grace, and has the power to fight all evil.”

Both Crowley and Malarak’s eyes were fixed on the unassuming bottle. Crowley swallowed. Could it really be? Was Aziraphale carrying holy water on his person, on a regular basis? Had he always? If so, how dared he not get Crowley any? Crowley was glad the angel protected himself like this, but really… 

The more pressing issue should of course have been whether Aziraphale was going to use the water here and now; this thought hit Crowley only second. He was instantly wary - he was pretty sure Aziraphale wasn’t going to end _ him,  _ but there was a good chance of getting caught in a crossfire. He glanced at Malarak.

“You’re bluffing,” Malarak said in a quiet, wary tone.

“This water will destroy you,” Aziraphale said, eyeing them both. “It will cause you incredible agony and end you.” He met Crowley’s eyes for a moment. “Begone, evil being!”

The angel threw the contents of the goblet directly on Crowley.

Malarak jumped back as Crowley yelled in his shock and surprise, instinctively covering his face as the liquid splashed all over his person.

Crowley didn’t know what to expect, but he would’ve expected something. Instead, nothing happened. Luckily it only took him a fraction to realise that he wasn’t, in fact, melting away or in any pain, for that matter; the angel was bluffing, and he was now in on it.

Crowley let out the most anguished scream he could muster and fell on the ground, facing away from Malarak, clutching his face.

“No! It burns!” Crowley wailed as he writhed and screamed in mock-agony. He heard Malarak roar and then run away. 

“He’s gone,” Aziraphale said after a moment. Crowley stopped his screaming and sat up, looking up at the angel.

“Good thinking,” he commended. Aziraphale shrugged modestly and held out his hand. Crowley hesitated, but took it and allowed himself to be pulled up. “I gather that wasn’t actually holy water.”

“Of course not, dear,” Aziraphale tutted and glanced behind him. “Just my drinking water. Now, we best hurry along… I’m sure your screams of agony will draw attention.”

There were already curious eyes watching them from across the street and from windows, and the angel led Crowley quickly away.

“Where’s your car?”

“Didn’t bring it.”

“You what? Oh, very well… we’ll walk a block or two to get away from your friend and take a bus.”

“Not my friend.”

“Good! He seemed most unpleasant.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley eyed him as their pace evened out. “Is there a chance you  _ could  _ have had holy water?”

“Dear, I would never throw it near you under any circumstances,” the angel looked appalled.

“No, I mean,” Crowley pushed past the warm feeling of being called  _ dear  _ twice in one evening, “could you have gotten some from the monastery? Can you make some? Because if so-”

“Crowley…”

“- it would only be fair if you spared some for the rest of us, you know? Despite of what you think, I have no desire to use it on myself, thanks very much, but I’d like something to defend myself with if -”

“Crowley!”

They stopped. The angel looked at him seriously.

“I could not live with myself if I gave you holy water and it was somehow used against you,” Aziraphale’s voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes anguished. “Or what if the container broke? What is something,  _ anything,  _ went awry? How do you think I could cope with the rest of eternity?”

“Angel,” Crowley sighed, exasperated but touched by the gut-wrenching concern, “I’d be careful, obviously! It’s just insurance. In case Hell figures out this… thing we have, and I can’t talk myself out of it.”

Crowley watched as Aziraphale averted his eyes and clenched his jaw, as if thinking it over. Finally, he closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

“I’m sorry, Crowley,” he whispered. “I can’t do it.”

Crowley nodded without saying a thing. Disappointment always tasted bitter.

“What were you doing in there, anyway?” he asked after they’d started walking again.

“Oh, brother Maynard had a very interesting copy of the Bible, from the 1600s,” Aziraphale replied brightly. “I must show you. The monk who copied it way back when made his own little markings and commentary in the marginals, it’s really rather outrageous, especially for the time.”

“Sounds interesting,” Crowley smiled wanly, some of his good humour gradually returning after the holy water discussion. “What do you say to a dinner at the Ritz, and Bible and wine at yours after?”

“That sounds wonderful,” Aziraphale smiled radiantly and made Crowley’s heart skip. “Incidentally…” he lowered his voice as they halted at the bus stop. “Will you be in trouble? I mean, that other demon... He’ll tell everyone you’re dead, and then… you’re not.”

“Eh,” Crowley shrugged. “He’s an idiot and known for exaggerating. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them you merely threw acid at me or something. Besides, who are they going to believe? The creator of the original sin, or a guy who once picked a fight with someone because they were kind of wearing the same shoes?”

“Well, that  _ is  _ an unforgivable fashion faux-pas,” Aziraphale hummed, and for a moment Crowley thought he was being serious. He snorted in laughter when he saw the playful spark in the angel’s eyes. It never ceased to amaze him how Aziraphale’s sarcasm could be so biting and sharp.

It turned out to be a wonderful night. They laughed at Malarak’s expense, drank way too much champagne, and giggled at the near-blasphemous content of the old Bible. And yet, Crowley thought he sensed a strain in Aziraphale, and he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t his own tension seeping into the atmosphere. There were too many things left unsaid, and he was terrified of saying any of them.


	31. London, 1986 AD - Clubbing

Aziraphale couldn’t say he enjoyed modern clubs. He much preferred the ones a century ago - when parties still had class and style to them and when clubs weren’t just places for people to grind themselves against other people and consume terrible alcohol.

And yet, he found himself at clubs more often than he would’ve thought. That afternoon he exited one with a man he called a friend and sighed in relief to be in the open air again, and not in the thick smell of bad cigarettes and whiskey.

It was not like him to spend time in clubs during the day, anyway, but he preferred it to spending time in them during the night. At daytime, clubs were calmer and rather pathetic, with daylight streaming in through the few bits of window not covered with curtains or tape. There were always a few regulars present, drinking the day away.

The reason he had been to this club right then was his friend, Bill. Bill knew the bartender and had asked Aziraphale to meet him because the bartender was into books. Apparently, that was a reason enough to drag Aziraphale along. He chose not to ponder the reasoning behind this too much - he suspected Bill was trying to either find him friends or set him up.

The bartender was uninteresting in every sort of way, but Aziraphale kept up polite conversation anyway. Any friend of Bill’s was worth being nice to.

Bill was tall and calm, always ready to lend a shoulder. Aziraphale had known him for a decade or so, after drifting into a club for a job. Ever since learning the gavotte at a very unique club a couple of human lifetimes or so ago, he had known his place was with the ones society considered outcasts or unwanted. 

He’d been to leper islands across the continent, he’d comforted orphans and the homeless; he’d found he was needed in women’s shelters and gay clubs.

That’s where he’d met Bill. He’d been disowned by his family and he’d been in need of encouraging words. He’d been veering towards drug abuse, but Aziraphale had managed to help him take a new direction. Afterwards, he’d thought about disappearing from Bill’s life as he was wont to disappear from everyone’s life, eventually, but something about the human gave him comfort.

He’d made a friend, and met some of Bill’s friends through him. Aziraphale wasn’t very into clubbing and often sat by the counter as the others danced their hearts out. He enjoyed watching them be happy, so he didn’t mind sipping cocktails or wine while they writhed on the floor, even if the music was always too loud and modern. He usually performed subtle miracles and helped the club goers out, and had become quite a fervent advocate of safe sex ever since a new disease had begun to crash through the world, taking many familiar faces with it. Condoms miraculously appeared in people’s pockets when he was around.

Bill was charming and made friends easily, so he never had trouble finding someone to talk to or dance with. Lately, though, he’d been trying harder to get Aziraphale to dance with him. Quite honestly, Aziraphale would rather have done anything else than twist his body to the noise that passed for music these days.

“You want to get a few drinks later?” Bill asked as they stood on the busy sidewalk, sun trying its best to peek through the smog.

“Ah, no thank you, dear boy,” Aziraphale replied and pat his arm. “I’m meeting an old friend tonight.”

“Oh, alright,” Bill shrugged, but Aziraphale could hear the disappointment in his voice. 

“Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow?” Aziraphale suggested. Bill’s warm brown eyes crinkled fondly.

“Sure, mate. Have a good time with your friend.”

“I’ll do my very best,” Aziraphale smiled and couldn’t keep the nervousness out of his voice. Bill waved him goodbye and Aziraphale hurried to his shop to gather his courage. He sat down on the sofa with a glass of wine, and stared into nothing.

For decades now, he had wanted nothing more than to have Crowley understand how much he meant to him. Ever since that night when the demon had rescued his books, forty-five years ago, Aziraphale had dealt with his feelings and wished that one day, perhaps, they could be reciprocated.

He took a generous sip of his wine. It was both a terrifying and an exhilarating thought. The sensible part of him kept telling him that demons could not love and that Crowley definitely did not feel the same way towards him, but the other part… well. Over the decades, he’d tried his best to pick out a sign, any sign, that the demon cared for him even a fraction of how much Aziraphale cared for him.

And there were signs, definitely - when he looked back at their journey since Eden, he could recall many a time when Crowley had done something nice for him, helped him, saved him… he was always there to save him. And he wanted so desperately to think that all of that was because the demon cared, not because he was just keeping tabs on an enemy.

Since the end of the world war, Aziraphale had seen Crowley more often than before, and not only when it came to their Arrangement. They’d had lunch or dinner, gone to see a play or a film, or a concert. Aziraphale had enjoyed himself immensely. They hadn’t talked about work at all. They’d just been like two old friends, talking nonsense for a few hours, getting drunk after a dinner, or giving a scathing review of a terrible play between themselves. 

Surely there was no reason for Crowley to do any of that if he didn’t care at all.

Granted, he might only see Aziraphale as a friend… but considering all the times in the past when he’d tried to get a bit closer, and not so discreetly… there was hope.

Now, finally, Aziraphale had made up his mind. He couldn’t live like this anymore, guessing and second-guessing what Crowley thought of him. Tonight he was going to be straightforward. He was going to find out the truth. He would find Crowley, tell him how he felt… He took another gulp of wine. Well, maybe not tell him how he felt right away, maybe start with something a bit easier. Talk about their past, yes, that was good. And then he’d find out what Crowley felt, and then, finally, after so many millennia… he’d know. Maybe he’d lean in and kiss Crowley. Hold his hand. 

Aziraphale took a hasty gulp of wine at the idea and steadied himself. He was, of course, prepared for every outcome. He hoped for the intimate resolution he had so often dared to envision, but knew very well that rejection was the far more likely option. He was prepared to laugh it all off as a joke if Crowley burst out laughing at him. He was prepared to shrug carelessly, as if it meant nothing, if Crowley let him down gently.

He was even prepared to leave Crowley and never see him again if the demon so wished.

Aziraphale finished his wine and browsed some of his favourite books to calm his nerves. 

He hadn’t agreed to meet Crowley beforehand; even though he’d thought about this matter long and hard, the final decision was made more or less on a whim. This felt like the right time and if he delayed, he might lose his courage. He picked up the phone and rang Crowley; it rang and rang until the answering machine drawled a greeting in Crowley’s voice. Aziraphale slammed the receiver down without leaving a message. He had to see Crowley tonight.

The clock struck nine as he left the shop and headed towards the buzzing centre of London. He stood by a street corner and closed his eyes, ignoring the occasional passers-by who laughed at his outfit. He focused his senses and singled out the very familiar scent of brimstone, earth, and apples. 

The scent led him to a nightclub a bit further away. It was not a place Aziraphale would normally ever have entered. The bouncer looked at him dubiously but let him in regardless, mumbling something along the lines of  _ you’re lucky we don’t have a dress code. _ Aziraphale ventured inside and stuck to the walls. It wasn’t the trendiest place, but it was still more modern than anything he preferred. He tutted as he saw this place had scantily clad girls dancing in cages as fixtures.

Otherwise the patrons were a mixed lot. None of them were too young - the young people were probably in trendier places - but there was still plenty of laughter, drinking, and loud music. 

Aziraphale found it difficult to pinpoint Crowley in all this commotion. He’d never been good at tracking anything, and the more distractions there were, the worse he fared. He had a general direction so he stuck with it and soon ascended stairs to the second floor.

From there, he could see the dance floor below. He watched the throng of people dancing but couldn’t spot a familiar red head. He saw plenty of mullets and perms - how the world wasn’t out of hairspray yet, he would never know.

He continued on his way and came to a hallway with little alcoves built in. He passed ones where people were laughing or drinking (usually both), but the further he went he began to realise that many seemed to use the alcoves for getting up-close and personal. He averted his eyes bashfully as he passed a couple trying to apparently swallow each other whole.

The last alcove was near, and he knew this was it. The brimstone, the apples… He drew a breath and straightened himself. This needed to appear casual. Coincidental.  _ Oh, Crowley, fancy seeing you here! Might I join you?  _ And they’d sit, and drink, and talk, and… and maybe more.

He stepped to the alcove, ready to execute his rehearsed lines, but all he could manage was a rather shocked, “Oh!”

Crowley was indeed there, but he wasn’t alone. There was a woman with him, and she had her tongue so deep down Crowley’s throat that if the demon had needed air, he would’ve been choking. They were entwined together, thankfully clothed, but his hand was far too high up her leopard-print mini skirt, and… Aziraphale couldn’t look. They had both heard his exclamation and were now staring at him like two deers in headlights.

“Sorry!” Aziraphale stammered, averting his eyes. He couldn’t look, couldn’t face them… “I-I didn’t know- excuse me! Sorry!”

He fled the scene. He could vaguely hear Crowley calling after him, but didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. He knew he didn’t require air in his lungs, but for some reason he needed to breathe now. And he could not breathe here, it was stifling, it was too much.

The street was thankfully cool and relatively quiet once he made a turn and stopped at a side alley. He stumbled a bit and swallowed back bile. He blinked - the city lights were suddenly blurring in his eyes. He found a little nook where he could hide himself and try to calm down.

He had been such a fool. He closed his eyes and willed himself not to break down. He’d lost nothing. He still had his demon friend.

But his hope was lost. How stupid had he been, thinking Crowley could ever… she had been pretty, that much he had seen. So wildly different from Aziraphale. And surely Crowley wouldn’t go about…  _ dallying  _ like that if he cared for Aziraphale the way he cared for the demon.

He rubbed his face in his hands and refused to break.

“Az?”

He looked up and found the source of the familiar voice.

“Bill?”

It was Bill, as sure as day. He walked over, calm and confident as ever.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. There was a concerned frown on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale lied. It convinced neither of them.

Bill looked at him for a bit and then threw an arm around his shoulders. “Come on. You need a drink. We’ll talk.”

Aziraphale thought about arguing but couldn’t find the strength. He merely nodded and allowed himself to be led away.

Bill didn’t take him to a bar, but instead to his flat nearby. Aziraphale had been over a few times before. The place was small but nice. Bill sat him down on the couch and poured him a whiskey. Not his favourite drink, but he took it gratefully and nursed it in his hands. Bill sat down next to him.

“Alright, spill it out,” he said softly. “You’re clearly upset. Did it go badly with that old friend?”

Aziraphale could only marvel at the perception of this human. He breathed out a laugh which was halfway through to a sob. He tried so hard to hold back tears.

“No, it’s - it’s just, well,” he swallowed. “Turns out he didn’t… he doesn’t feel quite the same about me as I… after all this time...”

He couldn’t continue. His bitter disappointment and burning shame took a hold of him. He couldn’t shake the image of Crowley and that woman from his mind. He wiped his eyes and felt Bill’s big hand patting him on the back.

“I’ve always thought,” Bill’s soothing voice murmured, “that you are very special, Az. You deserve someone who treats you like you’re the only worthwhile thing in this world. Someone who’s there for you… who loves you without question.”

The words fell so softly from his lips that Aziraphale had to turn and look at him. Bill’s brown eyes were very close, and he knew. He could sense love in humans even without trying if it was strong or near enough, and Bill radiated it. He stared into the human’s eyes.

“You’re special to me, Az,” Bill whispered, a hand still resting on his back. “Maybe you could give me a chance?”

He drew closer. From this distance, Aziraphale could make out a subtle golden tint in the brown of his eyes. Almost yellow, if he looked hard enough.

He knew he didn’t love Bill, not in the way he hoped, but after so many millennia of never letting himself be loved, and after realising what he had craved for longer than he thought, it was hard to resist. Couldn’t he, for once in all of existence, allow himself this one moment? This person loved him. This kind, strong person, his friend, loved him and wanted to be close to him. He lowered his eyes.

Aziraphale felt humiliated and broken, and there was Bill, offering him all the love and solace he could ever hope for. It was such a human thing to want, but… wasn’t he meant to blend in?

“What do you say?” Bill whispered, so close that his breath ghosted on Aziraphale’s lips. His hand still ran light circles on his back. Aziraphale drew a breath and met his eyes. Where he had so desperately wanted to see yellow, there was only brown.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed and felt Bill’s recoil more than he saw it. “I can’t. I like you very much, but I can’t… I just can’t.”

Bill took back his hand and nodded, a gentle smile on his lips. He was disappointed, but taking it well.

“You love that friend of yours, huh?”

Aziraphale could only smile sadly. “I’m afraid so. We’ve known each other for a long, long time, and... It’s complicated.”

“Well,” Bill sipped his whiskey. “I really hope he realises what he’s missing. I really do.”

The look he gave Aziraphale was so compassionate that it was almost out of this world.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale replied. He got up. “I better head home. Thank you so much, Bill, for everything.”

They parted with a hug. As Aziraphale was once again on the street, he let out a heavy breath. He eyed the traffic to see the nearest bus stop and was almost startled to discorporation when someone skidded to a halt near him. He backed into a wall instinctively before he realised it was Crowley.

“There you are,” he gasped. He looked absolutely harrowed. “I’ve been looking all over! Where the Heaven were you?”

“With a friend,” Aziraphale replied. “What are you…”

“Listen, I was working, okay?” Crowley fixed a look on him, and even behind the dark shades Aziraphale could tell his eyes were boring into him with intensity. “She was a work... thing. You know? So, I mean, if you’d stayed, I could’ve gotten rid of her in a blink of an eye. So.”

Aziraphale stared. He had no idea what to think. His heart ached as he watched his friend, still unable to erase the image in the club from his mind. 

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Aziraphale replied and swallowed his emotions. “I know you-”

“Just so you know, I don’t go around seducing and defiling, these days,” the demon continued. “Other than for work. Just… you know.”

Silence. The traffic around them was loud, the intoxicated people passing by were loud. And yet there was nothing but silence in their little bubble.

“Alright,” was all Aziraphale could say. Crowley was tense as a wire.

The demon made a few nondescript sounds. “So… did you have something you needed me for, or…?”

Aziraphale swallowed. If he wanted to tell Crowley, this was it. He was directly asked. And yet… so much had happened. His resolve had crumbled. The mood was gone.

“No, I…” he looked around as if trying to find help. “I just happened to be around. Thought I’d say hi.”

He’d never been a good liar.

“Right.”

“Well, I better get home,” Aziraphale forced a smile. “It’s late.”

“I’ll give you a lift,” Crowley offered. Aziraphale was hesitant. “Come on. A bus at this hour? You’ll get mugged in a heartbeat.”

There was still time to decline. Crowley was like a giant question mark, hovering there and waiting. Aziraphale sighed and nodded. Honestly, despite the mad way Crowley drove, it was still better than a late bus.

Aziraphale soon found himself in the passenger’s seat. He hadn’t actually been in the Bentley since he’d delivered the holy water. He looked around as if seeing the car anew. It still looked the same. The mood wasn’t far off, either.

“You okay?” Crowley asked before starting the car. Aziraphale looked at him, those dark glasses and the ridiculous, though true to the time, haircut. He just wished he could see Crowley’s eyes. He so rarely got the chance. The sunglasses were like a shield between them. Though maybe this was for the best - Aziraphale felt like he might not be able to handle that gaze. He was so near to the one he loved, and yet miles away. Maybe that was how it was supposed to be.

“Just nervous,” Aziraphale replied without thinking. 

“I can go slow for you,” Crowley murmured. Aziraphale’s heart missed several beats as they looked at one another, and then the demon started the car.

They didn’t speak during the drive. Crowley did, indeed, drive slower than usual - which was still faster than was allowed - but Aziraphale had a feeling he’d not been talking about the car. But then, he didn’t know what to think anymore. He wished he’d taken to sleeping, because this seemed like a situation where he just wanted to get home and forget everything for several hours. He didn’t want to think.

Crowley pulled up by the shop.

“Lunch some time?” the demon suggested as Aziraphale was about to exit the car. He halted and looked back.

“Of course.”

The silence wasn’t quite awkward, but close. Aziraphale smiled and left the car, and just as he’d swung the door closed he heard a  _ Good night, angel, _ from the driver’s seat. The Bentley revved away at a breakneck speed, and Aziraphale spent the whole night translating the oldest manuscript he had.


	32. London, 2019 - Aftermath

The angel’s hand fit into Crowley’s like it was designed for it. They didn’t speak a word during the busride back to London, and they didn’t really need to. It wasn’t the time. Nor the place. It was the calm before a storm, and it needed silence. Crowley was satisfied holding Aziraphale’s hand and getting just as much comfort as he was offering.

He would’ve lied if he’d said he wasn’t a bit nervous having an angel, _the_ angel, _his_ angel, in his flat for the first time since… well, probably for the first time ever. Aziraphale had been at the door a few times, but other than that, they’d always met outside or at the shop. 

Crowley tried to be cool and nonchalant as they entered and told the angel to get comfortable while hurrying deeper into the flat himself - Ligur was still a nasty stain on the floor, so he miracled it away; he also miracled a sofa and a coffee table into existence in an adjacent room, because he was absolutely sure that Aziraphale would not find his apartment pleasant or cosy in any way. No wonder - Crowley had never intended to make it such. He liked it sleek and bare; tartan and dusty bookshelves weren’t this thing. 

Unless there was an Aziraphale in the midst of it.

Aziraphale followed him awkwardly after a moment and hovered by the door. Crowley tossed his glasses on the new table and threw himself on the sofa, motioning for the angel to do the same. Aziraphale sat down and let out the heaviest sigh Crowley had heard in a while.

“Well,” the angel hummed. “That sure was… something.”

“Yeah,” Crowley sucked his teeth. “Something.”

How could he ever try to unpack the load of emotions that had burdened him recently? The crushing (assumed) loss of Aziraphale, the actual gut-wrenching loss of his Bentley, the joy of sticking one to Gabriel and Beelz, the elation of actually preventing the end of the world - and the nagging fear of what was coming next.

Crowley watched Aziraphale’s tense profile and could tell similar thoughts were going through his head.

“My shop, Crowley,” Aziraphale swallowed and wrung his hands in his lap. “Is it really… is it all really…”

“I’m so sorry, angel.”

Aziraphale looked away and nodded in silence. Crowley could tell from every tense muscle in the angel’s body that he was barely coping with it.

“All that history, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, then, staring into nothing. “All those voices… gone. The first editions… signatures by authors long gone… I had scrolls from two thousand years ago.” He swallowed, squeezing his hands together so hard that his knuckles shone white.

Crowley did what he had wanted to do so many times before. He edged nearer and reached an arm across the angel’s shoulders, gently pulling him closer until Aziraphale’s head was resting on his shoulder. For a brief moment everything was silent and still, but then the angel relaxed in the embrace and exhaled heavily. Crowley rested his cheek against his soft curls.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he mumbled into Aziraphale’s hair. 

“Crowley,” the angel breathed; his breath tickled his collarbone. “Your Bentley. I’m sorry, I didn’t… I know how much you loved it.”

“Just a car,” Crowley replied but his response didn’t fool anyone. There was now a hollow spot in his heart, reserved for his dear vehicle.

“No, dear,” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and squeezed. “Please don’t belittle it. I’m truly sorry for you.”

They stayed like that for a good while, mourning their losses together, holding one another in a comforting embrace.

“Some scriptures were unique…”

“I had it from new, angel, from new…!”

“The collection is irreplaceable, thousands of years of work…”

“It didn’t have so much as a dent on it, not a scratch…”

“I had signed copies from Shakespeare and Wilde-”

“Never needed fuel, it knew better…”

After some time, Crowley felt Aziraphale stir and had to let go as the angel sat up. His eyes were glistening with unshed tears, but there was a smile on his lips.

“Oh, Crowley, look at us,” he chuckled. “Crying over material possessions! It’s hardly suitable for beings such as ourselves.”

“But you like material possessions,” Crowley argued, aware that Aziraphale’s hand was still firmly in his.

“I do,” the angel admitted sadly. “But think… we saved the world, Crowley. We saved Adam. What do material things matter in comparison?”

Crowley stared at his dear angel and swallowed. There was a very good point, there. What did losing a car mean when he had almost lost Aziraphale? What would anything matter if he lost him for good? What difference would owning any car make if he didn’t have his angel? Bookshops, cars, vintage clothing and houseplants… none of it could ever come close to replacing that which he held dearest.

“Yeah,” was the eloquent answer that finally left Crowley’s lips. “Doesn’t matter.”

Aziraphale smiled at him warmly and let go of his hand, got on his feet and started to pace the room.

“However,” the angel said nervously, “it’s not over. Our respective sides-”

“Ex-sides,” Crowley reminded him.

“Yes, well, you know,” Aziraphale pursed his lips and looked worried. He didn’t seem comfortable being impartial. “They won’t be happy with us, and I can’t imagine they’ll just let this slide.”

“No,” Crowley drawled. “We’re royally fucked if we don’t come up with something.”

“What do you think your side-”

“Ex-”

“Yes, yes, very well, what do you think _Hell_ will do if they catch you?”

“Ehh,” Crowley grimaced. It wasn’t pleasant, thinking about the options. “Corporations can feel pain, of course… but that’s peanuts for them. I’m sure the higher-ups are already thinking of more interesting ways to mess me up.”

“Horrifying,” Aziraphale looked anxious beyond belief.

“What do you think Gabe and the rest will think up for you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Aziraphale sighed. “Take away the corporation, of course… other than that, I suppose they could lock me away somewhere. I would expect a trial, though, as is just.”

“Who would defend you?” Crowley snorted. “They all dance to Gabriel’s whistle.”

“Nevertheless,” the angel pursed his lips.

“Although, if they don’t consider us one of them anymore, I don’t think they’d want to keep us around,” Crowley shrugged.

“Well, they can’t just get rid of us,” Aziraphale huffed. “Nothing in Heaven can dispose of an angel, save perhaps Her… but she hasn’t even made me fall-”

Suddenly Aziraphale went white and halted his pacing, staring into space.

“Could they make me fall?” he whispered. “No one has since… surely they don’t have the power… only She could… and she hasn’t yet…”

“You stop with that line of thinking right now,” Crowley grunted and strode over to him, holding the angel by the shoulders and fixing him with his most convincing stare. “Like you said - if She wanted you to fall, you’d be long gone. And even if you do… I’ll come get you. I’ll always come get you.”

Something in Crowley’s brain screamed at him to tell Aziraphale just how much he meant to him and how much he loved him, but his vocal chords wouldn’t obey. Instead, he was stuck staring at the expression on the angel’s face, the worry, the fear, the trust; and something that glimmered in his eyes that Crowley couldn’t figure out just then because he was far too overtaken by the gratitude and love oozing from his best friend.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale whispered. Crowley licked his lips, nodded, and let go, beginning to pace the room himself. The space seemed far too small all of a sudden.

“Right, so,” he cleared his throat. “I don’t know exactly what Hell would do, and I don’t really want to find out. How do we weasel ourselves out of this?”

“We need to figure out Agnes’s prophecy,” Aziraphale frowned and took out the little scrap that had fluttered away from Nutter’s book. “I’m sure the answer lies there.”

“Oh, come on,” Crowley groaned. “That thing could mean anything! It might not even have anything to do with us!”

“But it floated to me, Crowley!” Aziraphale argued as if the matter was plain as day. “It was meant for me. For us. Every single one of her prophecies has come true, and-”

“Yesss, but it doesn’t always say _when,_ does it?” Crowley huffed. “You’re missing the context! Maybe the line before it said that it will be relevant in a hundred years. Or _was_ relevant a hundred years ago.”

“Don’t be silly.”

_“I’m_ being silly? Listen-”

“Crowley, I know this regards us, I can feel it,” Aziraphale looked very determined. “Trust me on this, please.”

Crowley sucked his teeth as he held his gaze on the angel’s undeterred eyes. “Ugh, fine. But we have to have something as back-up. Alpha Centauri, for example-”

“You don’t really want to go to Alpha Centauri.”

“Ehhh yeah, no, seems a bit pointless now,” Crowley shrugged. “But the option exists.”

“I’d rather figure out this prophecy. What can it mean?”

That’s what they spent a long time trying to find out. Hours and minutes lost all meaning and sometimes Crowley wasn’t sure how long had passed. At some point, he noticed it was daytime. He was close to losing his sanity quite a few times, especially when they were considering the same theory for the fifth time. Alpha Centauri was beginning to seem more and more appealing.

“It makes no sense,” Crowley threw himself on the sofa and rubbed his temples. “Choose your faces… what other face could possibly help me in this? Not like I can just become someone else and hope to evade them forever…”

Aziraphale stopped dead in his tracks. His mouth went slack and when he turned to Crowley, there was a wild look in his eyes.

“That’s it!” he gasped. “What if… Crowley, what if…”

“Yes?” Crowley motioned him to keep talking when the angel got lost in some thought in the middle of his sentence.

“What if we do become someone else?”

“What, like some average Joe from Birmingham or something? That won’t fool them, they’ll see through-”

“No, no,” Aziraphale shook his head, his whole body tense. “What if you become me, and I you?”

The idea was so ridiculous that Crowley didn’t even bother to answer. He stared at the angel until he elaborated.

“They will find us, that much we’ve established,” Aziraphale said, pacing the room with a feverish gleam in his eyes. It was strange to see him so animated; usually it was Crowley who couldn’t stay still. “So what we need to do is survive whatever they throw at us. Now, Hellfire or other demonic powers won’t hurt you so they wouldn’t even try to damage you with it. Which means, I could very well survive in your stead, and even find a way out!”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Crowley hissed at the incredible madness he couldn’t believe he was hearing. “You have _no idea_ what they could do! And if they find out-”

“But they expect you to be a demon who would succumb to punishments fit for a demon!” Aziraphale argued fervently. “And maybe… maybe they won’t even catch us. Maybe it’s a way to avoid it all. Maybe doing this has some other effect, another fate, that we don’t understand.”

“For fucks ssssake, we don’t understand any of it! And if you think for a second,” Crowley growled and got up, stepping into the angel’s personal space in what he hoped was an intimidating gesture, “that I will let them even _try_ to drag you to Hell to face whatever punishment-”

“But this is what it must mean!” Aziraphale cried, grabbing Crowley’s arm and seeming completely unfazed by his scare tactics. “They’ll never expect it. The prophecy-”

“Could mean anything! You’re insane!”

They argued about this plan for a good while and Crowley was absolutely appalled by the angel’s stupidity. How on Earth had he deduced that was what the prophecy meant? It seemed way too far-fetched to Crowley, but Aziraphale was adamant. They took a break from arguing by sullenly having tea and chocolate biscuits which Crowley didn’t know were in his cupboard; he nibbled at a single biscuit, all the while scowling at the angel as if trying to glare some sense into him. Aziraphale merely raised his brows with that infuriatingly annoying, stubbornly calm and condescending manner of his. 

And then they continued arguing. Suddenly it was nighttime again, and in the end, Crowley caved; and not least because they had no other plan and Aziraphale refused, once again, to go to Alpha Centauri.

They then spent even longer trying to figure out how to wear one another’s face. Once they figured out how to switch bodies - or minds, or essences, it was all really rather confusing - Crowley had to admit the plan was starting to look a bit better.

Afterwards, they spent many frustrating hours trying to pretend to be one another. More specifically, Crowley almost despaired watching his own form walk about the apartment stiff as a board. Not that it was easy for him to control his nervous energy, either, but Aziraphale had great troubles moving his joints in a way which didn’t look like he was some weird automaton. It was far from Crowley’s swagger.

Really, if Heaven and Hell had any sense in them, this ruse would fool no one. But then again, both sides were often blinded by their hubris, so Crowley dared to have a tiny sliver of hope.

At long last they considered themselves as ready as they could be in any reasonable time frame. The sun was up again, though they weren’t sure how many times it had risen and set since they had arrived. Crowley examined his fingers, now so very Aziraphale; when he looked up, he was disturbed to see himself staring back at him with a far too open and kind expression for that face. 

“You know,” Crowley made up his mind on the spot. “If this charade works out, we’re going on a holiday.”

“A what?” blinked fake-Crowley.

“You know the concept! France. You and me. Food, sun… I dunno. Holiday stuff. Whatever you want.”

Aziraphale blinked in confusion but then a slow smile spread on his lips. He nodded and the only confirmation was the spark in his eyes - a strange sight when said eyes now happened to be Crowley’s.

Crowley, still presenting as Aziraphale, lounged on the park bench and tried not to twitch too much. Time crawled on. Where was the angel? He’d have thought Hell was more brief in these matters, unless of course… no. Fuck that thought.

He shifted nervously. Gabriel was a real dick. He’d always known it, of course, but the events of today had only solidified his opinion further. Heaven couldn’t have cared less about Aziraphale, the one who cared too much and always thought only best of humanity. Crowley wondered if he should tell the angel how callous Heaven had been. Maybe not… not yet, at least.

And really, what a bunch of hypocrites! How rich of them to tut at their little Arrangement when they were no better - Hellfire in Heaven, unbelievable. Crowley assumed that went both ways and hoped Beelzebub had tried to drown Aziraphale in Holy Water. But when that didn’t work… what if they tried something else, something - 

“Good afternoon,” said a familiar voice next to him and Crowley contained his smile as his own dark form sat primly next to him on the bench. He was bubbling with joy he seldom felt, and could practically feel Aziraphale brimming with it, as well - but they kept their cool, savouring their moment of absolute triumph, almost not daring to believe it.

Dinner at the Ritz continued into a night of sophisticated drinking at the bookshop as they went over basically their whole history together. Days and nights melded into one as they drank, ate, and reminisced their time away. It was a time of victory, after all, and no matter what would come after, these moments were theirs to have.

There was a warmth in the angel’s eyes Crowley had seen many times before, but now it seemed to have another meaning; and as Crowley smiled back at him, there was a softness he could tell was in his eyes, plain for the angel to see.

Crowley wanted to say things, big things - things he had wanted to say for millennia, but couldn’t. It’s not that he didn’t want to, it’s just that the moment was too perfect. He was too content, too happy to have the eternity back and his angel to share it with. He feared that saying those things would lead into serious talk, and that just didn’t fit the mood. 

Or maybe he was still scared, _period,_ and was waiting for Aziraphale to say something. Because what if he was wrong. What if what he thought he saw in the angel’s eyes was only the same love he had for humanity, the same… _blandness_ of it. The Thing hung in the air between them, waiting to be addressed, but Crowley couldn’t, and Aziraphale didn’t, either. Doubt seeped into Crowley’s mind but he banished it; he’d say the Thing, he would shout it at the angel’s face if he needed to, but not now. There would be another moment, and he would say it, no matter the consequences.

“France,” Crowley said and Aziraphale blinked in confusion. “You, me, France. I said we’d go on a holiday.”

“Oh,” the angel looked surprised. “Well, I suppose that would be in order… just, perhaps not a cottage on a beach this time. I’m not that fond of beaches these days.”

Crowley laughed. “Yeah, alright,” he grinned. “I’ll find something to suit your expensive tastes. You agree, then? You and me?”

“I’d like nothing more,” Aziraphale smiled and clinked his glass with Crowley’s.


	33. France, 2019 - Holiday, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ready for romance? Because we're going to start wrapping this up and we're diving right in, you guys  
> _______________________________

Aziraphale was glad to learn that Crowley had indeed found an excellent place for their vacation. This hotel was on the beach, which caused him some concern as he’d had bad experiences in the 1800s and now thought the whole beach-thing was a whole lot of fuss with no reward, but when it turned out to be a very high-class, very established hotel which strived to give the visitors a taste of the glamour of decades past, he was more than satisfied.

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” he gasped as he entered their room - Crowley had booked them only one and Aziraphale didn’t even think to question it - and took in the view from the large windows. The ocean spread blue and glimmering before him, and their floor was high enough for them to not immediately see the beachgoers below.

“You don’t have to go to the beach,” Crowley grinned as he lazed in after him. “But you know, if you want to, we could.”

“I’m sure I’ll like it here,” Aziraphale smiled at his dear, dear friend.

“Guess what?” Crowley asked and whipped out a brochure, holding it so close to Aziraphale’s face that it was impossible to make out any text.

“You fell for an advert...?” he frowned. He could feel more than see Crowley rolling his eyes.

“Not this time! This,” Crowley tapped the shiny brochure against Aziraphale’s shoulder, “is what will make you fall in love with this place.”

Aziraphale raised a brow as Crowley placed the brochure in his hands. His eyes widened as he read it - it was more than he could’ve hoped for. This hotel served a special, formal dinner every night where the guests could enjoy the art of their world-class chef and mingle with one another, formal attire only. It promised the finest foods and the best wines, and it was the greatest news Aziraphale could’ve gotten.

He looked up to Crowley only to see him smiling smugly.

“It’s…” Aziraphale couldn’t even find the words. “How long are we staying?”

“However long you want, angel,” was the softer-than-normal reply. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

They spent the first day walking about the surrounding areas - urban only, since Aziraphale would rather map out the cafés and museums than endless sand grains on the beach. Crowley dragged him into a gaudy souvenir shop and laughed like mad when he tried to convince Aziraphale to buy the most atrocious tourist outfits - baseball caps, t-shirts, and scarves with terrible pictures and tacky fonts. Aziraphale managed to get away without buying anything… though he may have promised to come back on the last day, just for Crowley.

The hotel itself was extravagant and screamed of glamour. It was decorated in the style of the early 1900s - though with all modern amenities - and it suited Aziraphale’s tastes exactly. As they wandered through the common areas he was reminded of all the lovely parties and country getaways he had partaken in before, and in between, the wars. He and Crowley reminisced about that era, and a few others, as they walked about the walled outdoor area, swimming in the scent of lavender growing nearby.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel there was something different about this particular situation. He and Crowley, well… there had been a shift. He could feel it. At first he’d thought it was just his own wishful thinking, but… the more he talked with Crowley the more he knew that they had reached a turning point. 

Crowley had gone the extra mile with the holiday, and it was not required. Aziraphale would’ve been happy to just spend a few days exploring the city, reading books on the balcony and having dinners with Crowley, but no; Crowley had tailored the whole thing to suit his tastes. The hotel, the planned dinners, the books he’d found in their room (definitely not your usual reading for hotel rooms, no - these were actual works of good literature), and when they came back from their excursion to get ready for the promised lavish dinner, there was a bottle of champagne and chocolates waiting in their room.

This felt like a romantic getaway, not a little holiday between friends.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to do about it. After millennia of thinking a certain way, it was very difficult to imagine that a demon could feel… more. But Crowley’s eyes were so soft when he looked into them, every time, and when they were alone he would routinely take off his shades. To allow Aziraphale  _ to see. _

There were things Aziraphale had wanted to ask for millennia, and things he’d wanted to confess since the 1940s, and the fact that the time for those seemed to have come  _ now  _ both excited and terrified him. And yet, he’d never been more comfortable in Crowley’s company.

Since frivolous miracles weren’t an issue anymore and Aziraphale hadn’t packed any actual suits other than what he wore, he miracled himself into a neat dark tuxedo with a waistcoat; he thought he’d go for proper formal, if he was going to go at all. When he turned around he saw Crowley standing there, slim and elegant in a black tailcoat that hugged his figure exactly. Aziraphale swallowed and tried to pretend like he hadn’t been affected.

Crowley wasn’t doing such a good job with pretending, which was a surprise to both Aziraphale and him, apparently. The demon’s mouth hung open for an embarrassingly long moment before he managed to stammer that he thought Aziraphale looked good and that he hadn’t expected him to wear black.

“Well, you know,” Aziraphale shrugged, pleased at the compliment and the reaction, fixing his winged cufflinks, “while white has always been… my thing, so to speak, I do rather think dress codes should be respected. A white suit would be a bit too much, don’t you think? And besides, you’ve seen me in a tux before.”

“Yeah, sure, but, I mean,” Crowley crossed his arms and stared, still. “You know. I mean. You know.”

Aziraphale wasn’t at all sure he knew, but chuckled at this odd display and shook his head. “Come on, then, should we be going?”

Crowley snapped out of whatever strange stupor he was in, and was back to his suave self. He stood by the door and offered Aziraphale his arm. “Shall we?”

What. What was. What was this? Aziraphale stared. They were both frozen in time - Crowley was offering him his arm like… like one would a date. And sure, there had been an era in history where two men could walk arm in arm down the street and be thought of as nothing but friends, but the era was definitely not  _ now; _ hadn’t been for some time, really. Was Crowley implying…? Or was he just being polite…? Or…?

There was a tension building in Crowley’s jaw the longer Aziraphale hesitated, and he didn’t want that,  _ anything  _ but that; so he walked up to him and took the offered limb. Crowley tucked him closer and they shared a glance - confused, charged, expectant - and left their room.

Aziraphale felt a strange sort of pride walking on Crowley’s arm through the hallways and downwards to the dining hall. He kept eyeing people to see if they cared, if they looked at them and perhaps envied him - Crowley did look extremely good and that was no lie - but people didn’t seem to mind them much. They were too busy with their own company, or hurrying elsewhere. Well, no matter - Aziraphale squared his shoulders and smiled as they made their way down.

He almost gasped when they arrived in the dining area. It was grand - the many chandeliers were lit, illuminating the whole space with warm, golden light; the tables were covered in heavy white cloth and set with shining cutlery. Each table had candles and flowers, and sparkling crystal champagne glasses, and - it was just so lovely.

They were shown to their table (they had a table? Aziraphale hadn’t really read through the brochure properly, in his bliss - regardless, it was a table for five) and sat down. Crowley smiled at him, that lopsided little smile that only lifted one corner of his mouth, as if he was trying to hold it back but failing. Aziraphale wished he didn’t have those shades on, but of course that was not possible in the public. He smiled back, fully, and admired how the golden light played in Crowley’s hair, painting streaks of sunset orange in it.

_ Oh, for crying out loud. _ Aziraphale turned his eyes away on the pretense of folding a napkin on his lap, very carefully and slowly. He was being ridiculous - fawning over his friend like… well, like a character from a romance novel! But… and he hazarded a look at Crowley and found he was still watching him, expression soft, and Aziraphale realised they hadn’t actually said a word since leaving their room. Had they gone beyond words at this point? He definitely hoped not - he loved hearing Crowley’s voice. Loved to discuss anything and everything and bicker about something stupid. Loved Crowley.

_ Good Heavens.  _ This was getting too much, even for him! He had to… there had to be something he could do to break this spell that had fallen over them, it was suddenly too fast and too much and he needed air -

Relief came in the way of three people who were escorted to sit with them and the momentary bustle was enough to ground him and calm him. Humans. Good, yes, humans were good. He and Crowley stood politely as they arrived; an older couple, he in a tidy suit, she wearing a long mauve evening gown that covered most of her but left the back tastefully open, and a nice-looking young man with fair hair and dimples.

“Norah Alcott,” she held out her hand and Aziraphale took it. “My husband, Arthur,” the balding, unremarkable-looking man shook hands with them, “and my nephew, Lucas.”

“How do you do,” the young man said, very proper-like, as they exchanged handshakes. Once they were all seated, it became clear that Norah was one of those people who never had a quiet moment in their life and were more than happy to share their opinions with others. Just as well, Aziraphale thought - the less silences there were, the fewer chances there were to make things… weird.

In a span of a few minutes, Aziraphale had basically learned Norah’s life story. A farm girl from Lancashire, originally, she’d gone to study abroad, met Arthur, moved around Europe before settling in London and starting a little antiques business. It didn’t pay too well, but Arthur had inherited stocks, you see, and they were able to live quite comfortably and take these nice vacations which were by now an annual tradition. And her nephew, Lucas, well, he’d been accepted to Cambridge last year, and was ever so smart and it was only a matter of moments before he would find a nice, pretty girl and then he’d be tied down like any good man ought, haha, isn’t that so Arthur?

Crowley stayed out of the conversation, as much as it could be called one; she mostly talked while Aziraphale nodded politely in the right places. He did glance at Arthur and Lucas occasionally, and saw the former looking resigned but amused and the latter quite uncomfortable and embarrassed, at times.

They were served the first  _ hors oeuderves _ and some excellent wine, and that gave them a merciful break from her patter. She was a classy woman, after all, and would not talk with food in her mouth. 

Aziraphale savoured the wonderful flavours of the little salad, garnished with several roasted seeds and a divine vinaigrette, and noticed Crowley watching him again, sitting back in his chair with his wine and smiling. It was distracting.

He wasn’t sure if it was a curse or a blessing that Norah had finished her dish and was now talking about it critically. She wasn’t a fan of seeds or vinegar, she said, but supposed it was alright enough. Aziraphale was almost insulted at this - it had been an excellent starter to the evening, in his opinion.

“Anyway, I have been talking about myself a lot, haven’t I!” she laughed. “So, Mr. Fell, what was it that you do?”

“I own a bookshop,” Aziraphale replied politely. “In Soho. Do come by, if ever you’re in that part of London.” He hoped she wouldn’t, but felt compelled to offer. It’s not that she was terrible… just a bit much. Aziraphale did like peace, after all, and she seemed to be a whirlwind.

“Perhaps I shall!” she hummed. “And do visit us in return, I bet I have some books that would suit your collection!”

Aziraphale turned to Lucas while she was still going on about something or other, desperate for someone else to say something, at least; and noticed the young man was watching Crowley with a strange expression. Aziraphale frowned and looked at Crowley - who in turn was watching  _ him  _ with that smile of his. Aziraphale looked back to Lucas, and as he did so, so did Crowley; and Lucas was startled and gazed around wildly before noticing Aziraphale and blushing.

“So, Lucas,” Aziraphale smiled at him, pretending he hadn’t noticed anything. “Do you often join your aunt and uncle on these vacations?”

“Oh, Lucas is such a dear!” Norah said before Lucas had so much as opened his mouth. The young man gave Aziraphale an exasperated look and shrugged, bemused. “He is the best nephew one could hope for. He joined us last year, too - he has a friend living here, so I suppose that’s some extra incentive to spend time with auntie, eh?” she nudged at him playfully. He merely smiled at her.

“Lucas studied in France before going to Cambridge,” Norah explained. “He’s so international. Speaks French, he does! A great help here, I assure you. And it’s good for young people to see international friends, I always say, helps them network in life, doesn’t it, Arthur? And who knows, maybe this friend has a sister he could bring along.” Again she nudged at Lucas, and winked, and Lucas’s smile was strained enough for Aziraphale to guess that this was not the first time Norah had brought a similar subject up. For goodness’ sake, the boy was hardly twenty. He’d have time.

“French girls are sweet enough, I think,” Norah said, sipping her wine. “But a bit arrogant, perhaps. Still, I’m sure Lucas would only choose someone nice.” Her eyes crinkled fondly as she glanced at her extremely embarrassed nephew. “I  _ am  _ glad you chose to study in France, Lucas - the other options weren’t that great, to be honest. Especially The Netherlands - can you imagine! He could have gone to study in  _ Amsterdam.” _ She lowered her voice as if saying a dirty word, and her lip curled in distaste.

“Isn’t Amsterdam quite lovely in the spring?” Aziraphale tried - he’d never felt this way or that about any city in particular - save a few dear ones throughout history - but he thought it terribly unfair for her to slander a city for no apparent reason. It only felt right to try to defend it.

“Oh, the tulips are nice, I suppose,” she scoffed. “But the things that go on there…! I would never have let a son of mine go there, and I’m glad my sister thought the same. Didn’t she, Lucas? You see, Amsterdam,” again she lowered her voice in a conspiring manner, “is full of drug addicts and drunks and sex workers, and gays!”

Ah. Aziraphale took a deep breath and kept his expression neutral. One of those people, then. Aziraphale could have bet anything that Norah had never set a foot in Amsterdam or done any research into the city. She had probably never read a single article about it. Aziraphale was willing to wager that she had only heard gossip and made-up news, and formed her opinion based on those.

And her opinion on sex workers and gays didn’t seem too favourable, either. 

“Is that… so,” Aziraphale managed to say. He didn’t want to encourage her, but she was looking for a reply and wasn’t going to give up.

“Oh, yes!” she huffed. “My friend Linda, she said that her cousin’s daughter’s friend was there for a week, and…”

Aziraphale tuned out most of this rant. He glanced at Arthur, who seemed to have zoned out long ago, and Lucas, who was poking at his second oeuderve - a duck patée biscuit - with a long-suffering expression. He’d clearly heard this before and didn’t agree.

“I like Amsterdam,” said Crowley all of a sudden, interrupting Norah’s tirade and staring right at her. He was sitting very still and Aziraphale could tell his eyes were very cold under the shades.

“What?”

“I like Amsterdam.”

Norah blinked. It was the first time Crowley had spoken since their initial introduction and his tone now was so very final. He wasn’t arguing, he wasn’t even trying to - but something in his voice told Norah that it was time to quit the subject.

“I suppose it has its charm, for  _ some,” _ she mumbled into her wine. Aziraphale looked at Crowley and tried to convey his gratitude with one look. He was pretty sure it worked, because to his shock, he felt Crowley’s fingers curl around his own under the table. The demon wasn’t even looking at him anymore, not a single thing in his face betrayed what he was doing or feeling, but his grasp was firm and reassuring.

It sent Aziraphale’s mind reeling. Everything was so strange. So different. So familiar, and yet… not. He squeezed back, very lightly, and a bit after that Crowley withdrew his hand.

This dinner was beginning to get too much. Aziraphale couldn’t handle both things - couldn’t deal with Norah’s nonsense and the ever-growing  _ something  _ between himself and Crowley. But he was out of options, really.

Perhaps Crowley picked up on this, because for the rest of the dinner, he kept talking. He asked Lucas and Arthur mundane questions, always cutting Norah off and refusing to hear her answers if he hadn’t asked  _ her  _ anything. Aziraphale was able to focus on his food, and it was excellent - flavoursome and bold, yet delicate and familiar. Time seemed to speed up now that he was able to relax even the tiniest bit. He could tell Norah wanted to talk to him at times, but she was too petty to accept being ignored by Crowley, and so she tried to insert herself in their conversation.

Aziraphale listened, of course. Arthur turned out to be quite a boring person. Kind, probably, but muted by several years of exposure to Norah. And yet, Aziraphale could feel he loved her; it was that quiet, deep-running love that old couples often radiated. Lucas, on the other hand, seemed like a very nice and bright young man. He was polite, educated, and probably talkative when someone else wasn’t constantly hogging the stage.

The evening was drawing to an end and so apparently was Norah’s patience with Crowley. She kept glaring at him with pursed lips during the desserts.

Crowley didn’t touch his dessert, but when Aziraphale had savoured the last bit of the delicious chocolate-rosemary mousse, Crowley casually exchanged his empty cup for his own. It touched Aziraphale in ways he tried not to think about.

They parted with the Alcotts in more or less amicable terms. Norah said warm goodbyes to Aziraphale, who she now seemed to consider an ally, and nodded curtly to Crowley. Lucas was the last to say good night, and he did so with an apologetic smile.

It was a genuine relief to be in the quiet of their room, lit only by a lamp in the corner. Aziraphale miracled himself out of his tux and into his usual clothes, abandoning the coat. Crowley was soon back in his old gear, as well.

Aziraphale sat on the bed with a sigh. 

“Well, that was… something.”

“Less relaxing than I had imagined, but I did have fun riling her up,” Crowley grinned as he flopped down on the bed next to Aziraphale, laying down on his back and spreading his arms. Aziraphale had to turn awkwardly to keep looking him in the eye. And, oh, he’d removed the glasses. Yellow gold was shining back at him and he smiled.

“I hope we don’t have to sit with her every night,” Aziraphale chuckled.

“You know that boy… what’s his name…”

“Lucas?”

“That’s the one! He’s  _ definitely  _ into men.”

“What?”

“Wasn’t it obvious?” Crowley snorted. “Every time she made a comment about him getting a girlfriend he got awkward; and every time she made some slur about The Gays - which wasn’t rarely -”

“Oh, poor boy,” Aziraphale sighed. “With an aunt like that.”

“I wonder about that French friend of his,” Crowley grinned. 

“You don’t think…”

“Obviously I think,” Crowley laughed.

Aziraphale frowned. A young man hiding himself from his family, a secret love he couldn’t bring to daylight… it resonated with him. And when Lucas had looked at him one time, when Norah had said something or other about proper men finding wives sooner than later… the look in those bright eyes had reminded him of dear, poor Cavendish from over 150 years ago. The same plight, the same resigned desperation… he had to do something.

“I need to help him,” he breathed.

Crowley groaned. “We’re on holiday!”

“Yes but-”

“And it’s not your job anymore.”

“Yes, but-”

“And it’s  _ none of our business.” _

“I have to, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed. The demon was watching him intently. “It’s… it’s love, you know? I can’t just sit and watch this boy suffer, I… I need to help him, if I can. It’s just… for love, you understand. …  _ Do  _ you understand?”

The question was loaded with far more meaning than was immediately obvious, but from the way Crowley met his eyes, it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

The reply was slow in coming, but packed with so much intent that it sent a shiver through Aziraphale’s whole being.

“Yes, angel. I do understand... love.”

It was an answer to a question he hadn’t asked, and the weight of it kept them still and quiet.

“Good,” was all Aziraphale could reply, small and weak, the yellow eyes holding him in their pull. Crowley sat up and was suddenly very close next to him. 

“Do you want me,” Crowley started, and Aziraphale almost discorporated before the demon continued, “to help you? You know, with Lucas.”

Aziraphale released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. 

“Could you?”

“Anything for you,” Crowley said with just enough of a smirk to lighten the dizzying devotion in the words, almost making it seem like a joke. But no… no. There was too much warmth in it and suddenly Aziraphale couldn’t handle it anymore. He drew a breath and looked away, desperately trying to think of a way to react to this, and mad at himself for not being able to respond in kind. Why was it so hard? Moments like this were what he had dreamt of for decades, now, and…

He got up, making an excuse about stretching his legs.

“I think I might read a while on the balcony,” he said and tried very hard to sound casual. “It’s a lovely night.”

“Sure,” Crowley hummed, sitting languidly on the bed that seemed far too big for just one person - which wasn’t too odd considering it was a double; and of course it didn’t matter if there were two beds or one, since neither of them exactly needed sleep, but suddenly Aziraphale was just so very aware of the fact that there was only one bed in the room.

“It’s a bit dark out, though,” Crowley noted casually and with a snap of his fingers, miracled himself into a set of black, silken pajamas. Aziraphale stared as the demon hopped under the luxurious covers and lay there, arms behind his back. “I’m gonna sleep so that this very nice bed doesn’t go to waste. If you want to read by the lamp here, I don’t mind the light.”

It was so casual. So nonchalant.  _ Here, come to bed with me, _ was what Aziraphale heard; and while the intention was probably nothing more than… than what it appeared, it still made his heart race.

“Ah,” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Well…”

“It’s really soft,” Crowley mumbled as he practically dug into the pillows until it looked like there was a space especially molded for him in it. 

“Well, I suppose…” Aziraphale hesitated for a bit, but then decided that there was nothing to hesitate about. He’d been in the presence of sleeping Crowley before. He had slept in the presence of Crowley. It was no different from that time in Memphis, or when the plague had run amok in England. The only difference was just sharing a bed. No matter. Perfectly fine.

Aziraphale miracled his own pajamas into existence and kept as calm and collected as possible as he made his way to the bed with a book and climbed in on the other side. It really was luxuriously soft. He propped the pillows behind his back and drew the covers over his lap. He sighed. It really was very nice.

“G’night, angel,” Crowley mumbled from between his own pillows, a half-closed yellow eye still peering at Aziraphale. “Wake me up… sometime.”

“Good night, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured even as the demon’s eyes closed and he was out.

Aziraphale watched Crowley for a while. He looked so calm and young like this, more vulnerable than usual. He knew all this, of course, but it wasn’t often that he could witness it. His heart swelled and his fingers itched to brush through Crowley’s hair, to soothe away all the twitchy nerves that so often seemed to plague his friend.

But he resisted, of course. It was not right and it was not his place. He opened the book and read through the night.


	34. France, 2019 - Holiday, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy! Sorry for the monster of a chapter. 
> 
> Here's a few instrumental romantic songs to accompany this chapter, if you'd like; all available on Spotify.
> 
> "Andante festivo for Strings and Timpani" by Jean Sibelius  
> "Secret Love" by Johannes Bornlöf  
> "The Single Petal of a Rose - The Queen's Suite" by Duke Ellington  
> "Gramercy Sunset" - The Hot Sardines  
> "6 Impromptus, Op. 5: Impromptu V" by Jean Sibelius

Crowley woke to light shining in his eyes. Not steady lamp light but harsh sun. Bloody thing, almost blinding him. He grumbled in his half-woken state and burrowed deeper into his pillows. The thing he liked best about sleeping was actually waking up, or rather, taking a long time waking up. The first moments after waking up were the warmest, nicest things about the whole experience. 

It could only have been made better if there had been a soft, warm angel next to him, but no such luck. He could see Aziraphale sitting on the balcony, reading a book as usual. He sat in the shade, but the rays of the early morning sun caught just enough of his hair to give him a halo. Annoyingly apt.

Crowley sighed as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He had intentionally laid it thick yesterday. He was done playing around - whether Aziraphale saw him as nothing but a friend or as something more, he was going to do his all to make the angel see how much he cared. Of course, the easiest way to get his point across would’ve been to walk up to the angel and just say, “Hello, I love you, be mine forever?” but somehow that didn’t feel right. It felt like pushing, and Crowley was terrified to push. Over the years, he’d gotten a very clear impression that Aziraphale moved at glacial speeds when it came to change or his own emotions; even after all this time, he suspected anything he did could still be going too fast. But… he couldn’t hold back anymore. They’d saved the world, for fuck’s sake, and been close to losing everything in the process. How could they just go back to normal? They had no way of knowing when it would all come crumbling down again, and every moment they spent pretending to be just friends was a waste of time.

So, Crowley had decided that he’d do everything but say things out loud. Yeah, yeah, he knew that humans considered that bad relationship advice; but really, humans had no way of comprehending the depths of his love for Aziraphale or the span of their friendship. And therefore he chose to ignore all human relationship advice altogether. He needed to let Aziraphale be the one to cross the line - Crowley couldn’t be the one to push, couldn’t be the one to make the move, because he was afraid that if he did, Aziraphale would react badly later, or maybe think it was just some demonic game _(ssstupid angel),_ or… well, he didn’t exactly know what he was afraid of, but he was terrified.

He was just going to have to show Aziraphale how much he loved him, and hope the angel picked up the cue. 

Crowley crawled out of the bed and miracled his clothes on before sauntering to the balcony. Aziraphale bid him good morning with a kind smile.

“You were supposed to wake me,” Crowley said in a way of greeting.

“You didn’t specify when,” the angel shrugged. “It’s five AM, Crowley, I thought you’d like to sleep in.”

“Ungodly hour to be up,” he grumbled.

“Well, it’s good you’re an ungodly being, then,” Aziraphale hummed with a spark in his eye. _Oh, sass is what we’re going with?_ Crowley fought back a grin. 

“The best kind,” he retorted. “Anyway. What are you going to do about that boy?”

“Lucas?” Aziraphale set the book down on his lap and frowned, looking over to the sea bathed in sunlight. “I suppose I would like to talk to him, first. To see whether your theory of his friend is true. And how he feels about things, in general.”

“Can’t you just… I dunno, use your angel powers?” Crowley flopped down to the chair next to him and gestured languidly with his hand. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“I can’t read his mind, you know that. And I don’t want to try to influence him or miracle anything before I know what he feels. Whether he’s capable of handling everything on his own.”

Crowley watched him. It was interesting, the way Aziraphale worked. Had worked, when he still had a… job? Well. He’d carefully guide humans towards the right choices, and often there were less miracles involved than one might have thought. If there was a way to just talk and offer guidance, the angel would; he’d only resort to miracles and gentle compelling if there were no other options. Crowley had long suspected that when it came to work, Aziraphale was unwilling to rob humans of their free will. He respected free will, they both did, it was what made humanity so infuriating and interesting.

“I’m sure he’ll spill his guts to you,” Crowley drawled. “They all do, for you. You have a knack.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Thank you, I guess.”

“So. A more concrete plan. What is it?”

“Well, first, breakfast,” Aziraphale nodded to himself. “They start serving at seven, so we still have a few hours. Then… well, I suppose we need to locate Lucas and go from there.”

“And Norah?”

Aziraphale actually groaned and Crowley grinned wide. “Oh, Norah… I hope she’s not with him, but…”

“Right, well, I can distract her,” Crowley promised.

“She hates you, dear,” Aziraphale gave him a withering look but Crowley was only elated at the endearment. “How are you going to keep her engaged?”

“I’ll figure out something,” he shrugged. “If anything, I could get a good argument going. I bet she loves to disagree with me.”

“I bet,” Aziraphale smiled. The corners of his eyes crinkled in that manner Crowley loved, that made him want to cradle his face in his hands and kiss every inch of his lips. It must have reflected in his eyes, because a gentle flush rose on the angel’s cheekbones and he averted his eyes.

“Do you want to take a walk before breakfast?” Crowley offered, getting on his feet and shoving his hands in his pockets - he didn’t dare leave them free, because he was pretty sure he’d just use them to act out the desire he’d just imagined.

“Well, why not?” Aziraphale smiled and closed his book.

They walked leisurely about the waking city and talked about mundane things, meaningless things. They stopped whenever they saw something interesting, and every time Crowley made sure to touch the angel - just gently, discreetly, a brush against his arm, hand on his shoulder, a momentary grip on his elbow. Just things that were contact but not immediately romantic or whatever. Aziraphale didn’t acknowledge it, but Crowley noticed that the longer they walked, the closer the angel stayed.

Breakfast was good. Crowley ate little but appreciated the food, as expertly made as the dinner before, though far less lavish. He kept his eyes peeled for the Alcotts, but apparently they weren’t early risers. That was a relief; he wasn’t sure if he could’ve handled Norah so early in the day.

After breakfast they retreated to their room to discuss the plan. They agreed that they’d go looking for Lucas and Aziraphale would have a chat with him while Crowley distracted Norah and Arthur, if necessary. That was the extent of their masterplan and they were both ruefully amused at this simple, crude strategy. But there was no other way to plan, at this point, there were too many variables. 

Aziraphale busied himself with the books for a while after, and Crowley gazed out to the sea. It was nice. The weather was already warm, despite it being so early, and there were people on the beach already. Not swimming at this hour, but just walking about and gathering seashells or whatever. But what drew Crowley’s attention was a thin figure wading ankle-deep in the water, fair hair shining in the sun.

“Hey, angel?” Crowley called to Aziraphale. “I think your chance has arrived.”

Aziraphale came over to look and determination lit up his eyes. “Right,” he nodded, briskly walking back to the room and turning around a few times as if searching for something. “Right! We’ll go down, and-”

“Hold up,” Crowley interrupted him. “It’s a beach. You’re not going to the beach looking like that. It’s suspicious as Heaven and we don’t want Lucas to think you’re some creepy stalker.”

“He would never…! And what’s that supposed to mean, anyway?”

Crowley sighed and shrugged off his jacket, and then began rolling up his trouser legs - no small feat considering how tight they were, but he helped it along with a miracle. “Listen, angel, you look fine and all, but that’s not beach wear. I’m not saying you should put on swimming trunks!” he interjected when Aziraphale looked appalled. “Just… lose the coat, for one.”

Begrudgingly, Aziraphale removed his overcoat and folded it neatly on the bed. He spread his arms. “Good?”

Crowley bit back an exasperated grin. “I guess for you, almost. But I mean… you still look too formal. It’s sunny outside, for fuck’s sake. Here…” without thinking, or perhaps thinking too much, he strode over to his angel and untied his bowtie, pulling it off in a smooth motion and tossing it on the bed.

“And also, you can’t wear this on the beach,” Crowley’s fingers began to unbutton Aziraphale’s well-worn vest, and he was already on the second button before he actually registered what he was doing. He halted, fingers stilling, and raised his eyes from the buttons to the angel’s face. _Oh, fuck._ _So close._ An unreadable expression in those blue eyes. The air was thick with something and neither of them breathed. It was far more intimate than Crowley had thought; effectively, he was stripping Aziraphale and had only just realised.

 _Please,_ Crowley begged in his head as he stared into the angel’s eyes, the air between them thick and electric, their noses almost touching and… _Please. Just kiss me. Please. Kiss me. Make the first move. Please._

Aziraphale exhaled slowly through his nose and then Crowley felt the angel’s hands on his wrists, gently pushing them away from him. With a wave of his hand, Aziraphale miracled the vest off; it joined the coat, neatly folded on the bed. He stepped back and averted his eyes, looking a bit rattled.

 _Damn it,_ Crowley clenched his jaw. Had he pushed too far? He hadn’t even meant to, this time. He’d genuinely been caught up in Aziraphale’s poor beach fashion choices, and… just, _damn it._

“Is… is this fine?” Aziraphale asked then, spreading his arms and meeting Crowley’s eyes. He was now sans his coat, vest, and bowtie, and for Aziraphale, it was as good as a swimsuit.

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley cleared his throat. “Just uh… maybe open the top button. And roll up the sleeves.”

Aziraphale’s eyes never left Crowley’s as he did as he was told. Crowley watched as the angel deftly opened the very top button of his shirt so that it no longer looked like he was being choked by the garment. And then he slowly rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt until they rested at his elbows, exposing his forearms for the first time in… Crowley couldn’t even remember when he’d seen Aziraphale’s forearms. It must have been… well, not since Rome, surely. And the way the angel kept looking at him all the while, it was… it made his mouth run dry and heart race, and if Aziraphale didn’t notice he was denser than he’d thought.

But then there was the slightest upward turn of his lips as the angel said softly, _smugly,_ “Better?”

“Yah,” Crowley rasped. His voice had burrowed somewhere deep and had a hard time finding its way out. Oh, Aziraphale _knew. Son of a…_

“Alright,” the angel nodded and glanced towards the beach. “Well, best be going, then.”

Aziraphale brushed past him and gave him a little smile; Crowley could only stare.

“Come along! I need you if Norah is there.”

He had no choice but to snap out of his stunned silence and follow.

Blood was pounding in Aziraphale’s ears as he made his way towards the beach in what he hoped was a casual manner. He couldn’t quite believe himself. In the grand scheme of things, he’d done practically nothing - but he’d intended to, well, to _flirt_ a bit; and based on Crowley’ reaction, it had worked. Aziraphale had never been very good at that kind of stuff, never really seeing the point to try - but yesterday had been so… intoxicating, he supposed. 

He’d sat up all night pretending to read. Well, he’d tried to read, but had been too distracted to actually register any words. He’d maybe gotten through two whole pages the whole night because he’d just found himself staring at the same page for minutes, sometimes hours, lost in his thoughts.

If he were to interpret yesterday correctly, Crowley had said he understood love. And if he were to interpret it even further, Crowley had understood what it meant for Aziraphale, what it meant in relation to their… friendship. He wanted to believe Crowley understood that he loved him.

So, Aziraphale had tested the waters, so to speak. It hadn’t gone at all the way he’d planned; he hadn’t expected Crowley to suddenly be so hands-on about his clothes, and the situation had sort of… surprised him. But once they had both realised what was happening, Aziraphale had been surprised to notice Crowley hadn’t done anything. In the past, he was sure he would have grinned, or made a suggestive joke, or both, but now? None of that. Just uncertainty shining in those yellow eyes, maybe even fear? Aziraphale didn’t quite understand it.

He’d thought it best to diffuse the situation, not entirely comfortable with it himself, but then when Crowley had looked at him like _that_ and… something had ached in his chest. Aziraphale had felt mildly scandalized when he’d unbuttoned his shirt and rolled his sleeves while being so intently watched. And yet… it hadn’t been unnerving at all. He’d quite liked the way Crowley’s lips were parted in surprise and the hunger that shone in those eyes.

Aziraphale had wanted to tell him, then - say the things he’d wanted to say for so long. To really ask him if he felt the same, if they had a chance. But they had other things to do, of course. Lucas was waiting and it hadn’t felt right.

Right now, as Crowley was walking by his side towards the sunny sand, he just tried to stay collected.

As they arrived, they gave the beach a cursory look. There weren’t many people there this early, but they did spot Norah and Arthur by the ice cream stand. Crowley nodded and made a beeline towards them; Aziraphale wasn’t sure who to feel sorry for.

He headed towards Lucas, who was unfortunately still wading in the water. Aziraphale sighed and removed his shoes. He rolled up his trousers and gingerly stepped into the water. The temptation to step _onto_ the water was great, but of course unacceptable. The water was cold and the sand did weird things between his toes.

“Good morning!” he called as he was within hearing distance. Lucas turned to look, surprised, and smiled.

“Morning,” he replied. He glanced towards the edge of the beach with a curious look in his eyes. Aziraphale followed his gaze and saw Crowley with a very disgruntled-looking Norah (and a nonchalant Arthur) by the little kiosk.

“Your husband is indomitable,” Lucas chuckled and Aziraphale nearly slipped on the sand.

“Oh, um, he’s not- I mean, we’re not- he’s not my-”

“O-oh, I’m sorry!” Lucas stammered back, turning red at the cheeks. “I just assumed… the way he was looking at you last night, I thought… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Aziraphale watched the young man avert his eyes, recoil, and close-off, and suddenly felt bad.

“No, no, it’s alright!” he reached out to Lucas as if trying to stop him from escaping - though there was nowhere for him to go save the sea - but thought better of it at the last minute and clasped his hands together, instead. “We’re not- we’re not married.”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to look away and feel embarrassed. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten into this conversation, or how to get out.

“Oh?” Lucas looked worried still, but faced him again. Aziraphale realised he was expecting an explanation. “But you _are…”_

“Yes,” Aziraphale hastened to say before his thoughts caught up with him. What was he saying yes to? He felt maybe he shouldn’t have, but it was too late now. Lucas’s expression melted into a relieved smile.

“I thought so,” he chuckled. “Everyone can see how in love you are.” The young man’s smile faltered as he saw the look and Aziraphale’s face. “Sorry, was that out of line? I just… it’s just so obvious.”

Aziraphale blinked in confusion but couldn’t help the sweet warmth that crept into his chest at this.

“Ah, it’s… that’s fine. Lovely to hear. Splendid.”

“Well, I say _everyone_ can tell,” the boy scoffed, “except my aunt. And just as well…” They watched how sour Norah looked when Crowley was pointedly only talking to Arthur at the beach. “She’s a bit…”

“Yes, I noticed last night,” Aziraphale hummed. “Quite conservative, is she?”

“Quite,” Lucas tutted. “It’s fine, though… It’s not worth getting into an argument over. It’s not going to change anything.”

“Change rarely comes without effort,” Aziraphale shrugged. “I’ve been around a while, and nothing good in this world comes about without a bit of struggle.”

“I know,” Lucas sighed. “But honestly… I see her a few times a year. It’s not worth starting a family feud over.” He watched his aunt a while before something seemed to occur to him and he turned back to Aziraphale.

“I’m… I mean, I’m gay. That’s why…”

“I inferred,” Aziraphale smiled.

Lucas let out a relieved sigh. “I love her. I know it might be hard to believe, but I do. It’s just… I don’t love everything _about_ her. That French friend of mine she mentioned?”

“Wouldn’t happen to be a boyfriend?” Aziraphale suggested carefully, recalling Crowley’s conviction last night.

“Would, indeed,” Lucas smirked. “His name is Marcel. We met two years ago online. My aunt doesn’t know the truth, obviously.”

“It can’t be easy to hide such a big thing from your family,” Aziraphale said softly.

“Oh, my parents know,” Lucas waved a hand dismissively. “They’re, like, a hundred precent supportive, as well. My friends, too. It’s not a secret… well, not from anyone but auntie Norah. I’m surprised she hasn’t heard it through the grapevine yet.”

Aziraphale was honestly a bit surprised to hear this, but pleased. It was great news that Lucas wasn’t living in shadow and fear of rejection, save from his aunt. It lightened his heart to know he had a good support network so that even if Norah did find out, he wouldn’t be ostracised. 

It started to seem that Lucas wasn’t really in need of his help. 

“I’m happy for you,” Aziraphale said, and genuinely was.

“Thanks,” Lucas chuckled. He watched Norah in silence for a bit. “Sometimes I wonder if she’d change her mind if she knew. But I don’t want to risk it.”

“Has she met Marcel?”

“Once, last year. It went fine, but then again, we’re just _friends_ to her.”

Lucas watched his aunt trying to both avoid and capture Crowley’s attention on the beach, and frowned. He looked at Aziraphale apologetically.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” he laughed nervously. “I mean, we just met yesterday.”

“Oh, it’s fine. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Good,” he hummed. “It’s just that things are so good at home that being here with her… it feels like a whole different, harsher reality. I guess it was just so nice to see and older gay couple, you know, it gives you hope that things will be okay.”

Aziraphale blinked back at him for a moment. What had he gotten himself into? He couldn’t correct Lucas now - and anyway, there was no way of explaining that technically he and Crowley didn’t even have a gender, really, and were just projecting; that they could choose to be whatever they wished, and therefore labels like gay, straight, male, or female, didn’t really, truly apply and regardless of what Crowley was or what hehimself was, the love he felt pierced through matter itself - but obviously to Lucas, they were men and they were human. And Aziraphale knew very well the struggles humans with differing orientations had faced through the millennia.

And yet, the hardest thing to explain would still be that they weren’t exactly together at all.

“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale smiled. “It’s alright, dear boy - and you will be, too, regardless of your aunt’s opinions.”

Lucas nodded.

“I’m going to see Marcel today,” he said, then. “Without my aunt. We’re just going to a café. Would you and your- would you and Crowley like to join us?”

“Oh, we couldn’t impose-”

“It’s fine, I think Marcel would like to meet you,” Lucas assured. “His family is a bit more conservative than mine and, well, he has more than one Norah in his life. I’ll ask him, of course, but we’ve been talking about how we don’t really know gay couples who’ve been together for a very long time. It would be nice to sort of… chat.”

“Ah, well, the thing is-”

“Please?” Lucas bit his lip nervously. “It would do him good to meet you. I know it would.”

Before Aziraphale knew what had happened, he had essentially promised to go on a double date with Lucas and his sweetheart. He wasn’t sure if he was thrilled or terrified of the idea - or rather, explaining the conversation to Crowley.

Crowley had had a marvellous time with Norah and Arthur. He was quite sure she now thoroughly despised him, and he didn’t mind one bit. He was almost hoping they’d get to sit with them again that evening.

He only remembered why he was talking to her in the first place when he noticed Aziraphale leaving the beach and motioning for him to follow. Crowley interrupted whatever Norah was saying and left unceremoniously, leaving her seething and complaining to Arthur about him.

“Fantastic,” Crowley grinned before Aziraphale had managed to ask a thing. “Brilliant. How did it go with Lucas?”

Aziraphale waited until they were back in their room before recounting the conversation he’d had with the young man.

Crowley went through a myriad of emotions during the story - Lucas had assumed they were a couple, and Aziraphale hadn’t actually denied it. The angel apologised profusely throughout the story and gave his explanations and reasonings, but Crowley barely listened. Dating Aziraphale. Wouldn’t that be the dream. Aziraphale looked nervous when he finished and was left waiting for Crowley’s reaction to this double date and being thought an old couple very much in love.

Well, if he was going to get what he had wanted to get from this holiday, he wasn’t going to back down from this. Aziraphale didn’t seem repulsed by the idea.

“Sounds like fun,” Crowley shrugged. 

“That’s- that’s it?”

“What? You don’t like cafés or dates?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat and Crowley relished in the red tint rising on his cheeks. 

“Well, yes, I mean, of course… it, um, it’s a date, then?”

“It’s a date.”

“But, Crowley…” the angel drew a deep breath before fixing his keen stare on him. “They think we’re…”

“Gay? I didn’t think you’d mind, I at least have had too many labels stuck on me to care.”

“R-right, of course,” Aziraphale looked away. “That’s… of course. Well, best get ready!”

Crowley watched his angel busy about the room and put his outfit together again. He felt a bit bad for not addressing what Aziraphale had so clearly wanted to discuss - the ‘being a couple’ thing. But it didn’t seem right - not like this, not forced by some young humans and their assumptions. 

Crowley had decided he was going to tell Aziraphale exactly how he felt, after all. But it was going to be on his terms, and it was going to be far more romantic than a hotel room in daylight, with beachgoers laughing as a backing track. No no no, his angel deserved much better, regardless of what his reaction would be.

So they made idle small talk and got ready for a brunch with two young humans. 

Sitting under a shade in a quaint little café a bit outside the town with two humans wasn’t exactly Crowley’s idea of fun, but he didn’t mind it too much, either. Sure, he would rather have spent his time with Aziraphale, and Aziraphale only, but whatever. They had plenty of time.

Marcel had greeted them with a warm _bonjour_ and even warmer smile; he was tall and thin with brown curls bouncing on his shoulders, eyes full or chocolate and embers. He and Lucas held hands on the table constantly and oozed that disgustingly potent young love smell which was obvious to even the vilest of demons. Aziraphale looked at them with fondness and Crowley tried not to roll his eyes. 

The young men had just finished telling them how they had met, and it was every bit as predictable and dull as Crowley would have imagined. Aziraphale called it sweet and romantic and the boys exchanged loving looks - Marcel even kissing Lucas’ knuckles softly - and Crowley had the sudden urge to plant a snake in someone’s coffee cup. He wasn’t a fan of sappy romance, unless it involved himself and his angel, of course.

“So, how long have you known each other?” Marcel asked; he had a clear accent (which obviously charmed the Heaven out of Lucas) but his English was excellent.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and Crowley could tell he was flustered. They were supposed to pretend to be a couple, after all, and he was having a hard time keeping up the appearance. As if there was even a need to lie.

“Oh, we’ve known for so long I can hardly remember,” Crowley drawled, placing his arm on the backrest of Aziraphale’s chair. “We met… well, feels like millennia ago, doesn’t it?”

Aziraphale raised his brows at him. “Does it? I rather thought time flies when you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I just can’t recall a time without you,” Crowley said with a bit more feeling than probably warranted, “nor do I want to.”

“Oh,” the angel swallowed. “Yes, well. Quite.”

“We met at a garden, didn't we?” Crowley turned to the humans who were smiling at them, still holding hands. “He was being all stuffy and proper, but I knew from the start he was actually a bit of a bastard.”

“Excuse me!”

“A rule-breaker, at heart,” Crowley grinned at his angel. “Right up my alley. I knew from the start I wanted to get to know him.”

The humans were now leaning a bit closer together, watching them as if they were some cheap romance flick, but Crowley hardly paid them any attention. He was caught in the angel’s eyes, the depths of which swirled with dawning understanding.

“Did you ask him out?” Lucas asked.

“Ha!” Crowley barked, startling everyone out of any love-hazy stupor that may have fallen over them. “You wish. I had to stalk him for… uh, _months_ before we even went out for drinks.”

“Ah, playing, how do you say, hard to get?” Marcel grinned at Aziraphale.

“Hardly,” the angel pursed his lips. “I just… well. I’m not very good at picking up cues, oddly enough. I thought he was just a stalker.”

“You wound me,” Crowley said theatrically but recognised the truth in the angel’s words. _For fuck’s sake._ Aziraphale was just… he really was just dense about this stuff. All these millennia… 

“Well, you can hardly blame me,” Aziraphale huffed. “You have to admit, you were after something quite _other_ than my _heart.”_

The humans snickered a bit. Crowley raised his brows.

“Point taken,” he nodded. “But I mean… can you really blame me?”

The grin he flashed the angel made him look away hastily and mutter something incomprehensible.

“So…” Lucas cleared his throat, amused. “Not quite love at first sight, then?”

“No,” Crowley chuckled. “And anyway I tried to fight it for a looong time.”

“How long?” Aziraphale asked suddenly, eyes so open and searching, and Crowley had to look away.

“It struck me in… in Gethsemane,” he shrugged. “But I think I’ve known since Athens.”

Lucas and Marcel glanced at one another quizzically but Crowley’s ears were ringing and his eyes found no solace anywhere; he didn’t dare look at the angel.

“Since… since the church,” Aziraphale said softly and Crowley couldn’t help but snap his eyes on him, and - damn it, the softness and raw _emotion_ in those bright eyes almost floored him. “Since… you saved the books. You know.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said hoarsely. He was lost in Aziraphale’s eyes for what seemed like another few centuries and was only roused by Marcel’s gentle cough.

“So... you travel a lot, no?”

Aziraphale turned to the man suddenly and left Crowley staring.

“Hm? Oh! Yes, yes we… we’ve been around, so to speak.”

“I wish to make many memories, too,” Marcel smiled gently at Lucas, still holding his hand, gazing into his eyes like only young lovers can.

Crowley did his very best not to look at Aziraphale. This whole thing had somehow turned more serious than he had intended, and now there was no turning back. He couldn’t take anything back, nor did he want to - but everything had just escalated and despite his vows, it had been because of two enamoured humans.

“I’m sure you will make many lovely memories together,” Crowley heard Aziraphale say and the humans laughed bashfully. Sickening. 

They made inane small talk for a while and Crowley barely listened. It seemed that Lucas didn’t really need any help from Aziraphale, so they were effectively just wasting their time here. Crowley spent the majority of the time trying to figure out what to do next - where to take this whole _thing_ that had just happened.

Eventually, the young couple said their goodbyes and left to do whatever a couple of that age would do. Crowley and Aziraphale got up and began walking along the gravel street very slowly. Neither spoke. The unasked questions hung heavy on them and Crowley had no idea how to address them.

Then, Aziraphale suggested they take a walk around the town and Crowley couldn’t think of anything else, so he agreed.

They walked for hours and spoke of nothing worthwhile. They stopped to admire the scenery, or to have ice cream if the opportunity rose; they did talk about Lucas for a brief moment and Aziraphale agreed that the man barely required his help. Not much they could do about Norah, anyway, though Crowley was tempted to scandalize her in some way.

Time is often a relative concept when it comes to immortal beings who’ve seen civilizations rise and fall. Crowley shouldn’t have been surprised by it, but he did blink in confusion when he realised they’d ended up literally in the middle of nowhere and it was dark. They’d missed at least three meals but Aziraphale seemed unfazed.

Crowley looked at his angel and saw he was gazing up at the sky, now speckled with thousands and thousands of stars, some of which Crowley vaguely remembered making. They reflected beautifully in Aziraphale’s eyes and their pale light made him glow in a way no mortal ever could.

How he loved him.

As if hearing his thoughts, Aziraphale turned to look at him. There was that horrible, wonderful tenderness again, the look which made Crowley’s chest ache and his hands itch with need to touch, to caress.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” the angel smiled.

“Yeah.”

“The shades are a bit of an overkill,” Aziraphale’s smile was sly as his eyes glanced over the sunglasses. Crowley snorted and ripped his glasses off, folding them into his jacket pocket. He watched how the angel’s eyes fixed on his, drinking him in like a man starved. 

“Did you mean it?” Aziraphale asked quietly. “At the café. About… when…”

The angel didn’t finish the question but rather turned his eyes back on the dark, glimmering sky.

“Yeah.” Crowley looked up as well. Silence.

“The stars are so beautiful,” Aziraphale murmured. “Nothing makes me feel the… well, the expanse of everything quite like the night sky. They’re familiar, but so distant. Humans have always looked up at them and felt so small. And in some ways, I do, too.”

“You realise we could just… go up there? To the stars?” Crowley looked at him and saw the little smile playing on the angel’s lips, despite him never removing his gaze from the universe.

“They’re much more beautiful from a distance,” he replied. “I’d rather stay here. Alpha Centauri has no appeal, to be honest.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled at this, and Crowley huffed in laugher. He held the angel’s gaze.

“I meant that, too, you know,” Crowley said. “I would’ve taken you with me. I was ready to abandon everything if I could just… keep you with me.”

“Crowley…”

“There’s a reason I didn’t go on my own, angel,” Crowley went on, voice husky. “What would’ve been the point? Without you? None. No point in… anything, really, without you.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were so wide, so searching, so open, as he looked at him, that it threatened to break Crowley in tiny little pieces.

“I love you, you know,” Crowley said before he’d even decided to do so. The words had just tumbled out of his mouth like that’s how it had always supposed to go. “Since Athens, since… fuck, since the beginning, probably.”

“I-”

“Don’t say you love me if you only love me like you love all the others,” Crowley blurted almost through gritted teeth; a last defence against being misunderstood, the last desperate plea for truth.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, his hands finding Crowley’s. “Of course I love you. More than the rest. In ways I could never, ever love anyone else.”

Crowley let out a breath he was pretty sure he hadn’t been holding, and lifted his hands to the angel’s face, caressing his features, brushing a thumb across the lips he’d wanted to kiss for millennia, resting them finally on his neck and curling his fingers lightly in the wisps of soft hair at the back of his head.

Those bright eyes, reflecting the stars like pools of crystal-clear water, ancient and infinite and beautifully _unattainable_ \- except not, because they saw him, they knew him, and they _loved_ him.

Crowley didn’t have to pull his angel close because he came on his own accord and kissed him; and Crowley kissed back, softly, shaking with all the thousands of years of pining and yearning and _love,_ and Aziraphale wrapped his arms around his waist and back so gently, holding him in his arms as if he’d always been meant to be there. Maybe he had, maybe this was the only moment that had existed or would exist, maybe they were crafting the world and time as they saw fit, here in the middle of nowhere, under the vast blanket of stars engulfing the world; and in that kiss Crowley could feel time stopping, and whether it was his doing or not, he didn’t care. 

Aziraphale tilted his head and sighed into the kiss, and Crowley could have cried, maybe he did, it didn’t really matter. How could anything else ever matter? He tasted vanilla, of course he did, and sunlight. It was the only nourishment Crowley could ever need, had ever needed.

When they parted, he didn’t know if minutes or hours or days had passed. Aziraphale chuckled softly and looked into his eyes, the love shining from him drowning Crowley.

“We’ve probably missed dinner,” Crowley stated, hands still on the angel’s neck, stroking gently.

“That’s alright,” Aziraphale smiled. “I saw the menu for today. Looked a bit uninspired in comparison.”

“Oh, so if the menu had been good, we’d have been running back ages ago?” Crowley did his best to hide his amusement. 

“Don’t be silly. I would hardly run. There are perfectly serviceable taxis around.”

Crowley laughed, throwing his head back; and when he looked at his angel again, he too was grinning so widely, so wonderfully.

“Let’s go back,” Crowley said softly, brushing his knuckles lightly against the angel’s cheek. “We’ll order room service.”

He took Aziraphale’s hand and they both glanced up at the stars, the only witnesses to the moment they had headed towards for so many lifetimes. With a snap of Crowley’s fingers, they manifested back in their hotel room.

They did indeed order room service, quite obscene amounts, in fact. And several bottles of wine and champagne. They spent the night eating and just talking; they went over things from their past neither had dared to discuss before, questions they had been dying to ask but couldn’t. It was painful, at times, but cathartic in so many ways. They laughed, they struggled not to cry, and all the while Crowley was amazed that he could reach out anytime and take his angel’s hand like it was nothing. Like it was the most natural thing in his existence. And Aziraphale would raise their joined hands to his mouth and kiss his knuckles, smiling so softly. Crowley was afraid that this was all some sort of a ruse, a dream, and at dawn it would all be gone.

But it wasn’t. Morning dawned, they sobered up for the third time since arriving, and Aziraphale was still there. Still smiling. Suggesting they go down for breakfast.

“Incidentally,” the angel hummed, looking a bit pensive. “While I don’t think we should meddle with Lucas and his family affairs… I really have taken a rather strong dislike to Norah. Very untoward of me.”

“You don’t say,” Crowley grinned and leaned on the desk, crossing his arms. “I think we should mess her up.”

“Oh, surely not _mess her up,_ ” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I just think she could do with a friendly reminder that she shouldn’t judge people based on… well, anything.”

“A lesson she won’t learn.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic, dear,” the angel smiled, fixing his bowtie at the mirror next to him. “We could at least… shake her world a bit.”

“Oh? And what is your cunning plan?” Crowley leaned in closer than necessary, just because he could. Aziraphale turned to him and while not long ago Crowley would have expected a blush or a flustered blink at the very least, the angel merely fixed his bright eyes on him and smirked.

“Well, she likes me,” he shrugged. “I’d go so far as to say she’s decided who I am and what I am, and that I probably agree with her views. And I don’t want her to.”

Crowley blinked back his surprise when Aziraphale kissed him on the lips, quick and sure, and went on to put on his coat. 

“So you want to…”

“I want to be nice to her,” Aziraphale said. “And then show her that I am not who she thinks I am. And then continue to be nice to her after.”

Crowley shook his head and chuckled. “That’s a very… angelic scheme, honestly. Hurt someone with kindness.”

“I don’t aim to hurt,” Aziraphale tutted. “Just… wake her up a bit.”

“It’s not gonna work,” Crowley scoffed. “But I’m in.”

The plan was simple: play nice with Norah and then reveal to her they were exactly the kind of people she despised. 

Unfortunately, this meant pretending to be just friends with Aziraphale. Crowley thought it was borderline illegal, a travesty, a sacrilege - after literal millennia of being “friends” and only recently becoming what they were meant to be, it just wasn’t right to go back to the same old.

Except, they didn’t really go back to it. It was a scheme they were in together, and when they were alone, they didn’t have to pretend. It was oddly exciting.

The worst downside was that Crowley, too, was supposed to be a bit nicer to Norah. The things he was willing to do for his angel, honestly.

That night they went down to dinner and were again seated with the Alcotts. Norah gave Crowley an icy glare and he flashed a brilliant smile in return. She looked baffled and a bit disgusted. Aziraphale greeted her so very warmly, and she began babbling about her day at once.

During the dinner, Lucas kept glancing at Crowley and Aziraphale, confused. He kept staring at them, and his aunt, and frowned so often he was probably going to develop wrinkles by the end of the dinner.

Crowley noticed that while Aziraphale was ever so amicable with Norah, he never agreed with her on her more… unsavoury opinions. He would redirect the conversation but never even nodded in agreement. Crowley held back a fond smile. Aziraphale would not lie, would not support hateful opinions even as a scheme.

Before desserts, the hostess announced the floor was free. They had brought in live music discreetly, and began playing classy and jazzy dance tunes. Norah got on her feet almost at once.

“Oh, Arthur! Let’s dance!” 

Arthur got up as if on command, and the couple headed to the floor. Among the other pairs, they looked oddly like giddy teenagers.

Lucas turned to Crowley and Aziraphale as soon as they were gone.

“What’s going on?” he asked in a low voice.

“Whatever do you mean?” Aziraphale raised his brows.

“You- you’re being so nice to her,” Lucas frowned. “I know you can’t agree with all the things she says, and you’re just…” he shook his head. “And! More than once you’ve explicitly called each other _friends.”_

“Lucas-”

“I mean, are you afraid of her reaction if she knew that… you know. She’s no relation to you, what does it matter if she doesn’t approve of you? I didn’t think you’d care one bit if she hated you.” Lucas aimed the last remark directly to Crowley.

Crowley licked his lips and leaned forward over the table.

“If you want us to start making out in front of her and cause a scene,” he drawled quietly, “then you’re just going to have to wait for a bit.” The grin that Crowley let spread on his lips as he leaned back in his chair made the angry red on Lucas’ cheeks drain.

“W-what?”

“I’m just saying,” Crowley shrugged, “shock value is more effective when it’s unexpected.”

Lucas opened and closed his mouth a few times before turning to Aziraphale for an explanation. The angel smiled and patted his arm gently.

“We in no way agree with her… ideas,” Aziraphale huffed. “And we aim to make a point about it. Trust me, Lucas, it’ll be fine. No one will be hurt and if she’s to dislike anyone, it’ll most certainly be us.”

Lucas’ eyes flitted between them in utter confusion. “I… That sounds a bit ominous.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy your vacation.”

The rest of the dinner went on without an incident, though Norah still continued to be obnoxious and Lucas was still obviously suspicious. It took all of Crowley’s restraint not to inject a vicious barb or a few in his comments to her.

When they were finally back in their room, Crowley could but sigh and let out a frustrated groan.

“It’s not worth it, angel, not worth it!”

“Oh, come now. It’s not so bad.”

“She said the internet is a gay conspiracy.”

“Well, obviously she’s very ignorant.”

“She has a pendant with a picture of Archangel Gabriel on it.”

“Hardly looks anything like Gabriel, really.”

“She says she prays to him every night.”

“... well, that’s as useless as it’s ever been.”

They both laughed at the insanity of it all. Crowley tossed himself on the bed and threw his glasses on the nightstand.

“How much longer of this?” he griped. “I just want to land the blow, already.”

“I understand,” Aziraphale said and sat down on the bed near him, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together carefully. “But it’s been _one evening._ All in good time.”

Crowley sat up and faced him. In the low light, the angel looked so much softer, so much more human. Still as beautiful as ever. He told him so.

Aziraphale smiled and kissed his hand lightly. There was a strange sort of nervousness flitting about his face now, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t really know how. In the end, he said nothing - instead, he placed Crowley’s hand on his tartan bowtie, still firmly around his neck.

“I know you don’t like tartan,” the angel whispered, eyes locked on his.

It took Crowley a moment to figure out where this was coming from and what in the name of no deity in particular was happening, but when he saw the look in Aziraphale’s eyes, the realisation hit him like a wave of boiling water.

With aid of a little miracle, Crowley pulled on the bowtie with one hand and it slid off.

“I don’t mind it,” he murmured back, unbuttoning the first of Aziraphale’s fine shirt buttons. “I think it suits you. It’s very you.”

“And yet, it’s on the floor now,” there was a little smile playing on the angel’s lips, though his eyes couldn’t quite stay in one place for long.

“I’ll press and iron it for you later,” Crowley hummed, and the second button gave way. His head was buzzing. His ears were ringing. He could barely focus his eyes on anything. 

“No you won’t,” the angel chuckled softly and then inhaled sharply as Crowley’s fingers brushed against his throat, so very lightly.

“Aziraphale, angel,” Crowley said quietly, almost reverently, fixing his eyes on him. “Is this… okay? Not… too fast?”

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale breathed. “I don’t really know. But I… I do think I have spent a very long time being slow. Perhaps it’s time to… change things up.”

“At your pace,” Crowley murmured as he ghosted kisses on the angel’s jawline. He could feel Aziraphale tense and relax, and then there was a sigh, and then hands in his hair and suddenly Crowley had been pulled into a kiss, torturously slow and hot and _needy,_ and… well, it was a bit of a beautiful blur, after that.

There might have been miracles involved, what with the way clothes were removed so easily; but Crowley couldn’t for the life of him think which of them was responsible. He was too busy getting lost in his angel’s eyes, drowning in vanilla and sunlight, pressing closer to soak in the heat from his skin, giving anything his angel could ask for and taking what was so freely given. Millennia of imagining this could never have prepared him for the raw emotion that wanted to tear his heart to pieces from the sheer love he felt.

Crowley was almost afraid - he didn’t want to do anything that would hurt Aziraphale, to make things weird or uncomfortable, didn’t want him to regret anything the way he knew he would have regretted all those centuries ago in Athens; but Aziraphale gave him no space to worry. He kissed Crowley with a purpose, pulled him down on the bed with intention, and held him close seeming so sure of it, and it… well, it was incredibly attractive really, seeing the passion in those eyes and knowing this was exactly what he wanted. What they both wanted.

And Crowley had wanted for a very, very long time.

“Just tell me,” Crowley breathed into his angel’s neck, “tell me if… if you don’t want me to…”

“Yes,” Aziraphale gasped back, fingers digging into Crowley’s shoulder blades. “I… I will. Just… don’t hold back. Please.”

Crowley had never been able to refuse his angel anything.

Waking up wrapped around a warm angel was definitely the best way to start the day, Crowley was sure. 

“Good morning,” Aziraphale said somewhere above him. Crowley cracked one eye open and bristled at the brightness. Aziraphale was sitting in bed, a book in his hand. Crowley wrapped his arms tighter around the angel’s torso and nuzzled into the horrific tartan pyjamas he was wearing. He tried to convey his distaste, but it came out as something like, _“Thhrbsrthn”_ and Aziraphale’s chuckle reverberated through his chest into Crowley’s.

“We’ve missed breakfast,” Aziraphale noted. 

“Wh?”

“Breakfast. It’s eleven o’clock.”

“M’sorry,” Crowley stretched himself a bit. 

“It’s alright. We can have brunch somewhere!”

“Sure,” Crowley smiled into the tartan as Aziraphale smoothed down his hair. Fuck. He could get used to this.

Wait. He _could._ _He would._

Dealing with Norah wasn’t exactly fun, but Crowley managed by imagining all the things she would be scandalized by if she knew. If she only knew! 

Aziraphale seemed to have a clear plan in mind. While at first he hadn’t even tried arguing with Norah, he was starting to test the limits a bit. He would now politely ask for her reasonings behind her odd statements - he never pushed far enough for her to get frustrated; he merely let her explain herself, even when there were obvious, horrible gaps in her logic or knowledge. 

After a couple of more days of this, Aziraphale began questioning her. He was still as polite as ever and careful not to upset her, but he started offering differing views and wouldn’t simply accept her insanity as before.

Crowley was amazed by his patience and stupefied by her wild ideas, but also impressed with the way Aziraphale managed to get at least semi-intelligent conversation going with her. A few times she failed to come up with any rational explanation for her bigotry and merely trailed off with a little frown on her face. On these occasions, Aziraphale gave her a moment before changing the subject.

Lucas seemed bewildered by all of this. He’d clearly never dared to actually discuss things with his aunt, and Crowley wasn’t surprised; not everyone had angel-like patience, and Norah was good at unintentionally getting a rise out of people. Crowley engaged Arthur and Lucas in conversation as much as he could, talking mostly to Lucas - Arthur remained as boring as ever. They had one common subject, though, which was the love of vintage cars.

Crowley got through the days fueled by the knowledge that he would, at the end of the day and sometimes during, get to retreat back to their room and spend time with Aziraphale. They’d known each other for so long, and yet they found new things to discover, to talk about. Crowley could even just lie beside the angel while he quietly read something; the warmth radiating from him appealed to his serpentine core.

Norah had been lamenting the end of the Alcotts’ vacation for days beforehand, so there was no confusion on when they would pack up and travel back to the UK. Crowley noticed Lucas getting a bit more sullen as the date neared, probably lamenting having to leave Marcel behind. He could relate. 

Crowley and Aziraphale were again seated with the Alcotts at the last dinner of the humans’ vacation. Everything was going nicely. Norah was in a good mood, determined to enjoy the last evening to the full. Lucas was obviously disheartened, and Arthur had the same nonplussed expression he’d had for the duration of the holiday.

But Crowley knew something Norah didn’t. He kept glancing at Aziraphale, waiting for the cue. The night went on amicably and soon the live band was back again. Before Norah could drag Arthur to the dancefloor, Crowley got up so fast that the chair legs screeched against the floor. The humans looked at him with raised brows, having not expected this abrupt motion from him - Crowley had, in the past, usually just lounged in his seat with minimal movement.

Exactly why Crowley felt nervous and why his heart pounded so hard, he didn’t know; but he turned to Aziraphale, bowed, and held out his hand. He didn’t even glance at Norah because his eyes were fixed on the angel’s - sparkling like stars.

Aziraphale took his hand and stood up, calm and collected. Hand in hand, Crowley led him to the dance floor among the people.

There was a held-back smile dancing on Aziraphale’s lips. Crowley fought against a grin as he pulled his angel closer and they began to move. Crowley was a terrible dancer, so Aziraphale took the lead very discreetly.

Not that Aziraphale was that much better, either - in all his years he apparently had only bothered to learn the gavotte. He did have the grace for waltz, though, so as long as they kept everything simple, they managed. They made quite a pair, one sort of familiar with the steps but terrible at it, the other not knowing the steps but having natural sway.

“Is she watching?” Aziraphale asked and spun Crowley so that he was able to glance at their table over the angel’s shoulder; behind his dark glasses, Norah wouldn’t be able to tell he was watching.

“Oh yeah,” Crowley snorted.

“And?”

“Trying to catch flies with her mouth, by the looks of it,” Crowley hummed. “Lucas is grinning, though.”

“Let’s make sure she understands,” Aziraphale smiled and they turned a bit, just to give her a better view; and then the angel pressed a soft kiss on his lips, lingering there for a while. 

“That’ll do it,” Crowley chuckled as they parted. They turned again so that he could see, and fought back a bark of laughter. “She’s gone red as a beet.”

“Poor thing,” Aziraphale grinned. “It’ll be good for her.”

“What, watching us make out?”

“Dear, you know what I meant,” the angel rolled his eyes. 

For the rest of the song, they didn’t bother with Norah. It was just nice to dance, to be doing something to mundane and intimate and not worry about anyone’s judgement. Well, Crowley was pretty sure someone was judging them, if not Norah; but it didn’t matter one bit. With Heaven and Hell off their backs, there was not a single person whose opinion mattered.

Norah was looking strictly at her plate when they returned to the table.

“Oh, it’s been a while since I danced,” Aziraphale remarked airily, pretending not to notice there was anything off about the situation. Lucas glanced at them all warily, but Aziraphale chatted on as if nothing was different. Norah’s replies were terse and she didn’t quite meet his eye, but the angel didn’t let it bother him. With Norah’s uncharacteristic silence, Lucas joined the conversation easily and even Arthur offered a few remarks when they broached subjects familiar to him.

Norah’s expression was unreadable.

When the dinner was over and they all got up to leave, Aziraphale turned to Norah and addressed her directly.

“I do hope you’ll drop by in Soho some time,” he smiled. “Perhaps we’ll see you tomorrow before you leave. If not, have a safe journey home.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but words didn’t come out. She nodded curtly and hurried away.

“Well,” Lucas huffed in dumbstruck laughter, “that was… something. I’ll be sure to see you in the morning, though!”

“Don’t you dare leave before saying goodbye,” Aziraphale chuckled. “Good night, dear boy.”

When Crowley was lying in bed that night, arms and legs wrapped around his warm angel, he couldn’t stifle the laughter that had tried to break out for hours now.

“What’s so funny?”

“She prays to Gabriel, angel,” Crowley snorted. “Imagine if he actually listens. Imagine what she’s going to talk about tonight. Imagine his _face.”_

Aziraphale was silent for a moment, imagining it, and then soft chuckles shook his body for a good few minutes. Crowley grinned widely as he listened to the echo of Aziraphale’s voice in his chest.

They did see the Alcotts the following morning, after breakfast. They were in the lobby with their suitcases and Lucas hurried to them with a smile.

“I don’t know if my aunt wants to visit you,” he said, “but I’d love to drop by some day.”

“You’re more than welcome,” Aziraphale shook the hand he was offered. 

“Just don’t expect to actually buy any books,” Crowley snorted. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“I’ll make you tea.”

“It’s a deal,” Lucas grinned. His eyes were then drawn towards the front doors. The slim figure of a handsome french man was framed between the entrance and the garden beyond. Lucas exhaled, pleased and surprised, and with a glance at his aunt, went to meet Marcel. The pair went outside and out of view.

Aziraphale looked at them go with a fond smile but was roused from his reverie as Norah approached. Crowley was prepared for anything, honestly, but at least she didn’t look insane at the moment.

“Well, Mr Fell,” she said, trying to smile but managing only a nervous twitch of her lips. “It was…”

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Aziraphale replied and Crowley was tempted to call him a liar. Still, the angel seemed to have seen something good in her, with the way his annoyance had dissipated over their stay. “Come by any time.”

He offered her a hand which she took hesitantly.

“Yes… Yes, perhaps I shall,” she hummed, a little curious frown on her face. “Goodbye, Mr Fell. Mr Crowley.”

She nodded at them both and went back to Arthur. Lucas came back inside, sans Marcel, and soon their taxi arrived and they drove off.

Crowley stood next to Aziraphale in the garden as they watched the car disappearing behind a bend.

“She’s not a changed woman, you know,” Crowley drawled.

“No,” the angel admitted, “but the seeds have been sown. It’s up to her, now.”

“You know, Heaven should pay you for this,” Crowley huffed. “All this good work.”

“I rather think they haven’t cared about this kind of work in a while.”

“Yeeess, you’re probably right,” Crowley hummed as they found a quiet nook in the garden and sat down on a bench. “You’ve been the only one who’s cared in centuries.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would.”

Aziraphale smiled almost shyly. “Thank you.”

They sat there for a while, enjoying the sun. 

“When are we leaving?” the angel asked, then.

“Whenever you want,” Crowley shrugged and took his hand. “We’re in no hurry.”

“No,” Aziraphale smiled so softly and brought Crowley’s hand to his lips to place a gentle kiss there. “No hurry at all, dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it then! Thank you everyone so much for reading, for comments, for the kudos! 
> 
> It was strange writing so much fluff and romance after over 30 chapters of pining. :D


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